One Big Mess
by smallsteps32
Summary: Old enemies and shady figures are reappearing, taking our heroes down with them. After a spate of abductions, the unlikeliest of people are forced to cooperate if they want to achieve their own goals, let alone save the world from the latest threat. Not everyone is willing.Category Avengers as is the most prominent, but also Doctor Who and Sherlock (can't crossover 3).Many pairings
1. The First Move

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, but if anyone would like to give me Marvel Studios, or the BBC, that would be awesome.**

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Clint and Natasha were taking advantage of one of their rare days off. Being SHIELD agents meant that those days not spent hunting fugitives, or monitoring possible threats, were few and far between. It also meant that holidays were filled with awkward silences and blatant tension as neither Clint nor Natasha wanted to admit that they were 'compromised', yet still spent every available moment in each other's company. Today found them soaking up the intermittent sun on a sparsely populated beach. It was perfect; public enough that they could blend in, but not crowded enough that they were helpless if a threat might occur. Natasha glanced fleetingly from her heavy book to where Clint was laid eagle-spread on a black beach towel, his eyes closed, but his breathing just a fraction too shallow for him to be asleep.

"Don't you have something productive to be doing?" she asked sternly, earning a wicked smirk as Clint one eyelid flickered open.

"Tasha, if you want activity, ditch the book and talk to me, otherwise I'm going to waste _my freedom_ in silence." He replied his eyes flicking down and back up her body before resting on hers; Natasha studiously ignored this, rolling her eyes and turning the page.

"Behave Barton."

"Oh come on," Clint retorted, hoisting himself up on his elbow and placing a hand over her wrist, moving the book from her line of vision, "What's the point in us even being here together if you won't have fun with me. It's your day off, let go of the reigns for a bit."

He held Natasha's gaze as she glared half-heartedly back at him. She couldn't keep it up; god only knew she wanted nothing more than to just let go and enjoy her time with Clint, but the dominant part of her brain just wouldn't let her. Natasha sighed heavily, flinging her book onto the sand which she had only detachedly been aware was warm beneath her exposed calves.

"If I agree to this, what are you expecting me to do?" she gritted out, again ignoring the victorious glint in Clint's eyes and choosing instead to drag a hand over her face and through her hair. Clint grinned, flopping back onto the towel and closing his eyes.

"You could be a lamb and go fetch us some ice-cream."

Natasha scoffed, but there was no heat behind it. With one last affectionate glance at her partner, Natasha rose to her feet, brushing the dry sand from her clothes, and headed towards the edge of the beach. As she waited in the queue for ice-cream, wondering to herself why she was even bothering, and pushing back the voice telling her exactly why, the sound of muffled shouts drifted from over her shoulder. Spy's instinct forever intact, Natasha immediately began scanning the area. She couldn't quite see Clint through the crowds that where slightly thicker near the shop, and she bit back the small rising trepidation that had started climbing up her windpipe. It was probably just holiday-goers having fun. Except that hadn't been what it sounded like. Abandoning her pseudo mission, Natasha strode across the sand, her stride lengthening into a sprint when she realised that she still couldn't see Clint, and the chilling fist tightened in her chest.

"Barton!" Natasha yelled ahead of her, growling when she received no answer, "Clint!"

Internal panic set in the moment her eyes fell upon the discarded beach towel and the toppled parasol, laid forlornly over the sand that appeared to have been kicked up in some kind of fray. Natasha tried to keep her expression blank, even as her chest heaved and she frantically scanned the area, seeing nothing but deep tyre tracks in the sand that led away from the scene. With hands that were shaking ever so slightly, Natasha whipped her phone from the bag that had been strewn open on the ground and held it tightly to her ear as she waited for the other end to pick up.

"SHIELD, this is Romanoff, I need Fury now!"

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**This may look a little slow moving, but it is building up to something. There will be Avengers, Doctor Who, and Sherlock, so don't worry. It's all AU, so that I can play as I like (there is a lot of suspension of disbelief) but I'll try to be as realistic as possible. Pairings...I shall leave as a surprise...**


	2. Harkness Investigates

**Disclaimer: Nothing here is owned by me**

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Captain Jack Harkness was never one to ask for help. Where would be the fun in that? But this time, there was really no choice. It was good to be back on Earth, and even better to be investigating alien goings-on; Jack shook his head as faces crept into his mind, focusing instead on the screen in front of him as he searched through countless results. It was also nice to be back in his usual coat and sexy ensemble (if he did say so himself). He'd spent the last month pretending to be a librarian in order to infiltrate, well, a library. There'd been some funny stories coming from the area, and where better to get all the gossip than a facility filled with teenagers working their mouths, and old women looking for kinky books that were ever so willing to spill every piece of gossip, be it mundane or surprisingly useful. Hell, he'd even got some good times out of it too; his boss, Lucinda, was a gorgeous woman of Japanese descent, but British to a tee. Jack smirked to himself as some more pleasant memories surfaced. That was why Jack was currently perusing the recently hacked government databases; he'd walked into 'work' that morning to find the front desk in turmoil. Lucinda had clearly arrived, her coat was flung over her chair and the kettle was boiled, but the woman herself was vacant. CCTV feeds were a wonder, Jack thought to himself, all he needed to do now was match the images to some government files and hunting down the perpetrators would be simple. There had been two men in black gear, but that wasn't what was interesting; no, it was the suited man, who walked with a swagger in his step, that Jack wanted hold of. He was clearly running the show, and Jack had grown rather fond of Lucinda; nothing a little light punch or two couldn't solve. Maybe then he'd find out what the man wanted with him anyway; that was obviously what she was taken for, her own life was far too plain for armed kidnappers to target her directly.

"Finally!" Jack muttered as the image of the suited man appeared on the screen, accompanied by a wealth of useful facts. Apparently he'd been imprisoned for a few months, been arrested again for trying on some fancy jewels, and was under no circumstances to be bargained with. He was also dead, apparently. Jack thought he looked a little short to be a crime boss, to be honest; cute though. Jack cleared the screen so that the next person who found it wouldn't be viewing Britain's best kept secrets, and stood back with a sigh, digging his hands into his pockets. He supposed that if he wanted anything to get done, it was high time he paid a visit to the British Government.

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**This is the shortest chapter I've written, the rest are longer. Never fear.**


	3. Beast without the Noble

**Disclaimer: Not mine**

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Tinkering with his computer, trying to secure a connection so that he could share a new theory with Tony, Bruce thought briefly back to what his words during the battle with the Chitauri:

_"I'm always angry."_

_Well,_ he thought with a restrained grin, _I'm not the only one._

It had been about a month since Donna had 'convinced' him to move in with her, and it had become very quickly apparent that the temper she'd shown when they'd first met was only the tip of the iceberg. For once in, he couldn't even remember how many years, Bruce was happy. _Really happy._ Even as Donna had yelled at him for forgetting to restock the fridge, storming from the house they shared in a remote village, far away from too many people, Bruce hadn't even forced himself to bite back the grin that clambered across his cheeks. It was those small, domestic moments that made it truly hit home how precious she was to him. Nothing phased her; not chores, or secret agencies summoning him in the middle of the night, and most definitely not a rather large and loud green problem that poked its oversized head into Bruce's business when it was least appreciated.

Bruce shook the modem a few times, peering into the USB socket and biting his lip when he couldn't identify the problem. He was a genius, he should be able to do something as simple as video message someone in New York; the technology clearly had other ideas though, as the little symbol in the corner of the computer screen glared at Bruce, the yellow bar jeering petulantly. Bruce took a deep breath, more annoyed than frustrated; his friendship with Tony may have had positive effects on his social life, but it also meant that not being able to share new data swiftly became a serious 'first world problem'. A problem however, that presented its source with zero effort on Bruce's part. A brutal rumbling, as if the skies were being torn apart followed a sharp flash of light, making Bruce jump just a fraction. He had been so absorbed in his work that he hadn't even noticed the sky turning dark; Bruce pushed the curtains from the glass, peering at the outside world as great globules of rain pelting the ground, churning up the dirt of the understated front garden. A moment's worry, and the sight of Donna's coat still hanging crisp and dry beside the door had Bruce pulling the phone off of the hook and dialling the now familiar number. A few dull rings and Donna's voice shot through the line.

"_Bruce, did you think of anything else we need?" _she demanded, getting straight to the point as always. Bruce rolled his eyes, glad that the redhead couldn't see him.

"No, I was just calling to see how long you'd be," he explained, glancing once again at the torrential downpour, "If you give me an ETA, I can call you a cab from here."

"_I am perfectly capable of doing that myself, thank you." _Donna retorted, her voice carrying over what sounded like the growl of buses, cars, and bustling crowds, before adding sweetly, "_But that's lovely of you offer. I might make that up to you when I get home."_

"You're already bringing me food, in the rain," Bruce chuckled, waiting for the snappish reply, "Surely I should be the one making it up to you."

Bruce could hear the smile in her voice as Donna replied coyly.

"_Well, you have been wrapped up in your science toys lately, I deserve at least-OI! What the Hell do you think you're doing?"_

Bruce tensed as the sound of shouting and a struggle flittered down the line, with Donna making herself very vocal.

"Donna?" he demanded, taking deep calming breaths, it would do no good for anyone for him to panic, "Donna what's happening?"

There was a clatter, as if the phone had dropped to the concrete, but Donna's voice could still be heard, ringing above the others.

"_Get your hands off me or I SWEAR-"_

The connection was broken, and Bruce was left, wide eyed, listening to the monotonous whine of the dial-tone, as the rain continued to pour on the other side of the window.

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**Hope you like. The mystery deepens.**


	4. New Mexico Tinkering

**Disclaimer: Still don't own the characters. The plot is the work of my insanity.**

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Jane sighed contentedly as she watched Thor stroll carelessly from their room, topless as usual as he searched for the shirt that had been discarded the night before. She had already been awake for hours, adding notes and correcting addled calculations on her theories, the ink from the whiteboard staining her sleeve where she had rubbed it away. She couldn't help the shiver that she still felt as Thor shot her a dazzling smile, if possible, filled with even more shimmer than the last one.

"I will never understand how you are able to rise so early." Thor mused, finally yanking a worn tee over his head; it did nothing to hide his toned torso, and Jane inwardly thanked every deity that she was allowed to ogle.

"Inspiration can strike at any time," Jane grinned, pausing only momentarily to peck at his lips before scribbling another thought upon her printed analyses, "And I think that this time I might have actually hit upon the key to reopening a Bifrost-type bridge from Earth."

Thor chuckled behind her, pressed so close that Jane could actually feel the vibrations through her thin coat.

"Well this is marvellous news!" he applauded her, with no effort to conceal the pride dripping from his tone, before adding wistfully, "I eagerly await the moment that my mother lays her eyes upon you."

Jane cursed the giddy excitement that fluttered, as if trying to scale the distance between her stomach and her chest; what the gorgeous god behind her needed was not a squealing fan-girl, but a comforting rock. She placed her hand on his arm, she couldn't quite reach his shoulder, and gave it a soothing squeeze.

"You really miss them don't you?"

Thor nodded solemnly, quickly rearranging his features so that the smile from before was, if not a little dimmer, fixed once again. He slipped from Jane's grasp and ambled across the workspace to pour himself what was left of the coffee pot that she had brewed when she had heard him clattering about in their room. Jane sighed again, her shoulders sagging as she turned back to her work. Asgard was always a touchy subject, sometimes producing gleeful tales, and other times causing a desolate cloud to settle overhead. The Bifrost was still destroyed, although Thor had been adamant that repairs were underway, and it was only Odin's skill with magic that had allowed Thor to return to Earth after he had delivered his delinquent brother to his parents' feet. Not only was Thor still brewing over betrayal and worry for his brother, admittedly to Jane's disapproval, but he was also without a way home. For now. That was the real reason Jane was working so hard, all hours of the day, every day; she couldn't stand seeing him so down, and if no one else was going to produce a solution, then she damn well would. One look in his direction, and the look of intense concentration on Thor's face as he stirred his coffee showed that his mind was elsewhere.

"Thor sweetie, can you do me a favour?" Jane called, smiling as he blinked away whatever had been troubling him.

"Of course, what do you require?" Thor replied quickly, already striding across the room, stepping over discarded pieces of equipment.

"I left some parts in my van, they're quite heavy." Jane explained sheepishly, gesturing towards where her rickety van still sat outside in the New Mexico sun, "They're in some boxes by the door, you can't miss them."

"Then I shall do my best to assist you," he answered cheekily, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips; he took her hand in his own and placed a quick kiss on her knuckles before turning his back on her and ducking outside, "I won't be long."

Jane grinned as she watched his retreating figure cut out the sun for a second, before moving out of sight. A deep breath and she let her eyes roam over the wide open space, lit up by the cloudless sky outside. As much as she relished the peace, and how much faster her brain worked with it, she couldn't help but notice the blatant absences. Erik was away, working for SHIELD, and there was no knowing when he was going to be back; Jane missed being able to run her theories past him. She loved Thor, but he was no Nobel Prize winner, no matter how interested he could make himself appear if he put in the effort. And Darcy; the empty space left now that she had moved on to bigger and better things, aided by the hefty bribe that SHIELD had been forced to trade for her silence, was astounding. She and Jane still kept in contact, but the rooms just felt a little emptier without her. Or they would, if she hadn't left a large portion of her stuff lying around. Jane was just pondering whether she should consider shipping them back, or maybe selling them for a small profit, when she felt a sharp prick on her upper right arm.

"Ow-"

Her other hand sprang up to cover what she assumed was a mosquito bite, but Jane was momentarily bewildered to find that her fingers closed around the end of a thin needle, jagged and broken at the end. Bewilderment was swiftly replaced by panic as her brain caught up with what was happening…then seemed to slow down far too quickly. Jane stumbled to the right, catching herself on the desk and attempting to keep her legs underneath the rest of her. A pair of arms, strong, yet too reedy to be Thor's closed around her waist. Jane kicked out, swinging her arms wide in order to fight them off, but the world seemed to be tilting on its axis. The part of her brain still functioning realised that this must be some kind of professional kidnapping; everything was so quiet, these men made almost no sound. Finally remembering where she was-when had she forgotten?-Jane tried to cry for help, but nothing seemed to be doing what it should.

"Thoorr!" a voice wheezed, and Jane realised it was her, "Th-"

A gloved hand clamped down over her mouth, and Jane's eyes stuttered closed, dragging her into darkness.

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**Thank you for reading**


	5. Missing in Inaction

**Disclaimer: still don't own it.**

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Sherlock scratched another line under the toxicity readings on the autopsy report. Lestrade had dropped it off that morning, to John's apparent relief as it made Sherlock actually drop his violin and turn his attention to something more productive. It had been three weeks since they'd had a decent case, with only an elderly woman who had misplaced her pearls contacting them through the website. Sherlock had practically reawakened at the Detective Inspector's appearance, snatching the case file and scanning the front page before sweeping from the room and returning fully suited.

The case was definitely an eight, if not a nine; a serial killer, although Lestrade had no idea how they were doing it. Sherlock was now seated in the kitchen, analysing the data before him whilst running his own control tests beside it, peering into his microscope every now and then. There may have been little evidence to go on, but that just made the puzzle a million times more thrilling. Bodies had been turning up for a month, completely purged of anything that could be used to identify a killer or a motive. _Well, _Sherlock thought with a smirk, _it was enough to fool the average person._ It shouldn't take more than a day or two to catch the culprits now that Lestrade had bowed to the inevitable and allowed Sherlock the data with which to theorise.

Every victim's body appeared to have been pumped full of water, bleaching the cells and removing all foreign objects from their DNA. This was clearly a professional attempt to destroy valuable data, but what it actually did was allow Sherlock to deduce that not only were the culprits Medical professionals, as shown by the method of purging the cells, but he could also deduce the far wider picture-

"Sherlock!" John called agitatedly from the living room, where a quick glance told Sherlock he was sifting through the clutter on the coffee table, "Sherlock, where's my newspaper? I put it here."

"I needed to test the effects of various chemicals on newspaper ink," Sherlock answered swiftly, turning back to the microscope; John looked about to retort but Sherlock cut across him, "It was for that journalist case; I needed to see whether he was more susceptible than his sister, who was not ingesting ink-press fumes on a daily basis."

"I only bought that this morning!"

"You have a laptop, go online." Sherlock said firmly, in a tone that always seemed to make John sigh in a put-upon way and storm across the room, dropping into his armchair in front of the fire. Sherlock couldn't be sure, but he thought he heard him mutter '_don't even know why I'm not at work."_

Sherlock knew why John wasn't at work; he had mentioned in a side comment that John's medical knowledge might come in useful, and of course he hadn't been able to resist calling in sick. It was a stark reminder of why Sherlock kept him, why he had missed him so much when he had needed to pretend he was dead. _Could be dangerous._

There was one thing about this case that struck Sherlock as odd. The victims were all homeless; _obviously._ Even Anderson had known that, although his reasoning as to why was all wrong. They smell and their clothes are ratty was _not _a viable method of detection. No, what was odd was that they weren't random homeless people; they were all people that Sherlock had…recruited. It couldn't have been a coincidence that his homeless network were the only ones being snatched and killed in such a short period of time.

He flipped to the next page in the file, and immediately froze. A chill crept beneath his flesh, but Sherlock kept his face impassive. It wouldn't do to worry John. Sherlock pulled his phone from his pocket, dialling the all so familiar number, never taking his eyes from the page in front of him. Written in inch high letters, in the centre of the page: IOU. He couldn't be sure, but he was pretty certain that the letters were written in blood.

"John, I've got to make a call." Sherlock explained flippantly, as he strode as nonchalantly through the living room as possible, "I'll be in Mrs Hudson's flat."

"What? Why?" John's head snapped up just as Sherlock put his foot through the door, "Hold on, why can't you speak here?"

"I need to focus and you're thinking too loudly." Sherlock replied waspishly, instantly regretting it as John was bound to get angry, but he wasn't going to take it back. This was important.

"Oh that's great," John responded sarcastically, "So I've taken a day off to sit here and look pretty."

But Sherlock was already out the door and half way down the stairs, placing the phone against his ears as he took the key from under Mrs Hudson's mat and entered her flat. _She should really keep it in a safer place_, he thought. The dial tone cut off.

"_Sherlock! Don't tell me you've worked it out already_." Lestrade's cockney tones clambered down the line.

"Lestrade, who else has had access to the case files?" Sherlock snapped, in no mood to deal with idiots; not even the brighter ones.

"_It's paperwork, it gets shifted about-"_

"Yes but who has had access?" Sherlock demanded, his patience wearing thin. Only two people in the world knew the specifics of Moriarty's taunts, and Sherlock definitely hadn't written that note himself.

"_I don't know! Lots of people-it's not like we monitor them. Why?"_

"These murders are targeted at me. The victims are all…associates of mine."

"_Right, what does that have to do with the files?" _Sherlock could practically hear Lestrade dragging his hand exasperatedly over his face, squeezing his eyes closed.

"Someone planted a note in them, they're taunting me." Sherlock explained quickly, ignoring what sounded like John clattering around on the floor above, "If you can't find the mole then we'll just have to solve the case and go from there."

"_I'll set Sally on the mole thing-"_

"Oh must you?"

_"Sherlock!" _Lestrade snapped, and Sherlock begrudgingly bit back his next retort, "_Now tell me what you've got on the case!"_

"I need you to check every import into London in the past three months." Sherlock instructed, glancing up briefly as another thud rattled the floor. _What was John doing? Rearranging the kitchen?_

_"Hold on, we were talking murder. Why am I now checking imports?"_

Sherlock didn't stop himself from rolling his eyes, growling under his breath.

"I guarantee that there will have been an unmarked import of narcotics at some point in the last three months." Sherlock spoke as fast as he could, frustrated that he even had to elaborate; Lestrade sounded as if he were able to interrupt, so he ploughed on, reeling off his deductions, "The bodies were purged with water, effectively removing any trace of anything from their cells via diffusion. It was clearly done by medical professionals, with professional tools, as demonstrated by the marks on the victims' upper arms and thighs. What reason could there possibly be for doing this other than to remove some kind of drug or poison? None. But why poison someone if you're only going to remove the evidence? Therefore, the victims were clearly test subjects of some sort, it's the only motive that makes sense. So you're looking for imports of unmarked drugs, the purchasers of which will be medical personnel testing a new narcotic for the ever growing market."

There was a moments silence as Lestrade presumably scribbled notes, and the thuds from upstairs were becoming increasingly more frequent. Sherlock stuck his finger in the ear not occupied by the phone.

"_Sherlock, if this is true, what's it got to do with you?"_

Sherlock considered telling the Detective Inspector the truth, but instead decided upon a diluted version.

"Whoever wants my attention would need something impressive to get it; I gather that my reputation paints me as difficult to please." He answered shortly, noting half-heartedly that there may have been a little bitterness in his tone.

"_Well-"_

Sherlock never found out what Lestrade thought, as at that moment a gunshot rang out overhead, and the thudding reached an almighty crescendo, as if someone was charging down the stairs. Sherlock cut off the call and bolted from Mrs Hudson's flat.

"JOHN!"

To his horror, the front door was wide open, the cold air blasting into the house as it rattled on its hinges. Sherlock followed the sound of a car revving outside, but stumbled to a stop as he saw a black van turn the corner, almost knocking a young woman off her bike. He turned on his heel, sprinting up the steps into 221B, taking in the state of the flat. There was broken glass strewn across the kitchen floor, twinkling maliciously in the sunlight, and the papers that had been stacked on every flat surface in the living room had been scattered. Most importantly, John was gone.

After a moment, in which Sherlock propped himself against the doorframe and scanned the damage in a kind of muted terror, clasping his hands under his chin, he noticed the crumpled mass lying at the foot of the sofa.

_It must be the shock,_ he told himself, cursing his slow observation. Sherlock tread cautiously towards the mass, kicking it to the side. The body of a toned man in black, his eyes closed and face lax, sprawled out. Sherlock couldn't help the small pang of pride. John had put up a fight. There had only been one gunshot, John wasn't dead. That single thought was enough to kick Sherlock back into gear. He had another call to make.

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**Wow this is longer than the rest. I love Sherlock to the point it's ridiculous, so this kind of ran away without me. Nevermind, the strings are pulling together now**


	6. Suited to Victory

**Disclaimer: All property of Marvel Studios and BBC. Not me. Not ever.**

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"Tony…just no." Steve sighed heavily, pinning the tee-shirt that Tony was waving eagerly in front of his face with as piercing a glare as he could work up in his exhausted and bemused state. After the fiasco with Loki and the Chituari, it had been nice to retire to Stark Tower and enjoy Tony's company now that the resentment had been firmly swept away. It had even been nice allowing Tony to introduce him to modern culture; Steve had been wary, clinging onto home as much as he could by avoiding learning too much, but eventually, he had to admit, some of the past 70 years were pretty cool. It had seemed _even nicer_ when Tony had eventually persuaded Steve to trawl the New York shopping scene and 'sex up' his wardrobe. What made Steve finally clam up and refuse to play, was Tony Stark, standing shamelessly before him, in the middle of a clothing store, demanding that he purchase, and wear regularly, a tee-shirt emblazoned across the chest with the red and yellow image of Iron Man.

"Oh come on!" Tony retorted, his playful smirk firmly fixed on his face, "It's great for your image, it demonstrates your devotion to your god, and the only thing sexier than this would be a three-piece suit with my face stitched into the hem!"

Steve yanked the tee from Tony's hands, studiously ignoring his last comments as he tucked it back onto the rack.

"Tony, the day I wear something with _you _on it is the day you need to start worrying for me." Steve insisted, turning to walk from the store, knowing that Tony would follow, "And if this is the road we're going down, where's your shirt devoted to me?"

As Steve had expected, Tony fell into step beside him, his hands digging deep into his pockets as he swaggered from the store, examining the tables out the front as they passed.

"Now…only one of us looks good in spangles, dear." he snarked, subconsciously leaning back into the arm that Steve nudged him with in response to his last comment. Steve opened his mouth to speak again, but Tony raised a hand and paused in the middle of the street, pulling his ringing phone from his pocket. Steve's curiosity piqued as Tony's eyebrows pinched, and he muttered an almost silent '_what the Hell?'._

"JARVIS, since when do you call me?" Tony asked urgently, his eyes widening imperceptibly as presumably the AI reported down the line, "Okay, don't let them know."

"What's happening?" Steve probed as Tony turned on his heel and began striding towards Stark Tower. Something was clearly wrong.

"Apparently my security protocols have been hacked and there are now four armed men waiting for us on the second floor of the Tower." Tony explained sharply, his irritation glaringly obvious. Since the attack on New York, he had become increasingly touchy about strangers entering the Tower; something about dents in the floor and holes blown through the wall. Steve had his suspicions that it was more to do with how easily reached Tony was within its walls, as even SHIELD agents had been locked out halfway up the Tower once their presence had been noted.

"Well that's just great," Steve muttered, before pointing out that, "Neither of us is armed."

Tony shook his head as they turned a corner, and the base of the Tower came into view.

"That's not what worries me. You're big and I can call the suit to me in a second." Tony reeled off, waving his hand as if to brush away the matter, "No, what worries me is that whoever's in charge reckons they can take the two of us with only four men. That amount of confidence suggests they're packing some heat."

"If that's the case then I want to be able to question them. Apprehend them Tony, do NOT blow them up!" Steve ordered, slipping into the role of leader the moment that they reached the door to the foyer.

"Whatever you say Spangles, but may I remind you that firepower's rather my style." Tony quipped, eyeing the floor above them as he spoke into the band that was an ever present fixture on his wrist, "JARVIS, send down the suit, quick as you can."

Steve didn't even bother to scold him, as the Iron Man suit shot through the open door behind them, apparently having escaped from a higher window, and began wrapping itself around Tony's form, clicking into place. There was silence from the floor above. Steve glanced towards Tony, who nodded sharply and strode into the lift. Steve followed closely behind, picking up a steel tray at the last moment. Any kind of defence would be a massive help at that moment.

The second that the doors to the lift opened, three shots ricocheted off of the Iron Man suit, and Steve only had a moment to notice that there were now three syringes lying mangled on the floor before Tony surged forward, tackling the largest man in black. Clearly someone wanted them alive. The next few minutes were a blur. The men, it turned out, were no match for Steve or Tony, but they put up one hell of a fight, actually managing to knock Steve off his feet when one of them used the other as leverage and landed a flying kick to his chest. It was difficult to decipher what was going on, as furious shouts clambered over the roar of the suit's weapons. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve saw two of the men running for the lift, escaping in a cloud of smoke as it seemed Tony had managed to light their coats on fire. Steve swung his tray at the man standing over him with a new syringe, knocking him cold; he rolled to the side before he could topple into the spot he had just been lying in.

"Nice one, Cap!" Tony's voice rang out, tinny and strained through the suit as he clocked the now unconscious attacker. The moment's distraction was all it took; the last man standing, spotting his chance dived towards the window, hurling a discarded chair through it. He seemed to have decided that he could survive a two story drop, and Steve couldn't move fast enough to stop him from leaping through the gap.

"DAMN!" Tony cursed, aiming a kick at the window pane, leaving it dented as he strode back towards the unconscious man. Steve watched the huddled mass on the pavement, and couldn't help the sigh of relief when it stumbled to its feet and sprinted lopsidedly into the waiting van, which then sped away. Attacker or not, that was one less death to worry about. His attention was caught by the sound of Tony's helmet clinking against the marble counter. Steve turned around and was met with the sight of Tony poking the unconscious attacked with his suited toe.

"Feed him to the lions or the good-cop, bad-cop routine?" he asked, looking to Steve for approval. Steve shook his head agitatedly, rubbing at the back of his neck.

"This is serious Tony!" he scolded, ignoring the mock-hurt look that was sent his way, "He's obviously more than a petty crook; we need to call Fury."

"Oh, do we _have _to?"

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**Yay, finally got to the Stony. The plot should begin to roll onwards now. **


	7. Do something about it

**Disclaimer: Still don't own a thing.**

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The screen embedded in the desk flickered before turning black, hiding the image of the prisoner. Fury ran an exhausted hand over his face, growling under his breath. _One problem at a time, _he thought to himself, _is that really too much to ask?_

Apparently so, as from about 9:00 AM this morning, within hours of each other, his phone had been ringing off the hook, announcing that each and every one of his 'last resort' team had demanded his presence. Fury had decided after Thor had stormed into his office, interrupting Dr Banner's tirade, who himself had barged in on Natasha as she explained in furious tones how Agent Barton had been snatched from under her nose, that he could really use some kind of secretary to deal with the _people_ side of things. For the time being Agent Hill had sat each of them down in another room, while Fury watched the interrogation of a man that Tony Stark and Steve Rogers had dropped in the centre of the Bridge, silencing the every growing cacophony of raised voices.

But there was nothing; no information, no leads, nothing that could be handed to the agitated heroes without earning one hell of a headache. If there was one thing Fury hated, it was being in the dark, and he was definitely in the dark on this one.

With one last sigh, Fury forced himself to return to the Bridge, where he was met by five pairs of hard, accusing eyes, glaring at him. _For crying out loud! I didn't kidnap them!_

The team was gathered around the round table, and had clearly been discussing in hushed tones what had happened, sharing their stories and trying to connect the dots. Tony was slouched in his chair, his feet crossed on the table, shooting glances at Steve, who was sat ever the soldier, deep in thought. Bruce had taken up residence next to Natasha, and the two of them were the epitomes of calm tinted discontent, leaning strained upon their elbows. Thor as usual took up one half of the table, his feet up, mirroring Stark, Mjolnir spinning on the table beneath his fingers. He made no effort to hide his anger, or his worry.

"Fury!" Tony was the first to speak as always, "What'd you get from the masked goon?"

"One great bag of nothing!" Fury snapped, taking up his position at the head of the table. A chorus of '_what'_s echoed around the room, with Bruce throwing himself backward in his seat, and Thor and Thor both shaking their heads. Only Steve remained frozen, absorbing the information.

"Director, I've been here a while, and I _know_ we have ways to make them speak." Natasha said coldly, earning a sideways glance off of Tony.

"I would be glad to assist you in your interrogation, should you need to explore alternative methods." Thor added, lifting Mjolnir and spinning it lightly around his fingers, his expression darkening. Fury shook his head.

"Yes we _have methods!"_ he gritted out, "But they only tend to work when the man's conscious."

There was a flutter of movement as every head turned to the ones on either side, looking for confirmation that they too had misunderstood.

"What do you mean conscious?" Bruce finally asked, beating Steve to the mark.

"I _mean_, every time anyone goes to talk to the guy, he holds his breath until he passes out!" Fury retorted; it was clever and he hated it, "as great as I like to think we are, we can't make a man's lungs work if he holds them still."

"Well that's just great!" Tony sniped, drowned out somewhat by Thor slamming his hammer onto the ground. Bruce dropped his head into his hands, Fury suspected more to calm himself than out of despair. Steve finally spoke up.

"What else have we got?" he asked, drawing the attention of those around him, "Do we have motive? Means? Who are they and what are they actually doing?"

"Whoever it is they're powerful and well trained." Natasha reported; Fury noted that apart from the initial storming into his office, she had been keeping her emotions schooled as sternly as possible, "All I heard was a scuffle, and there was barely a trace of them when they left. Considering it was Barton they took, that's impressive."

"And looking at the synced ninja gear I'd say they're part of some organisation." Tony added, earning a round of solemn nods.

"That's what I thought. Working out which one is the tricky part." Fury concluded, taking in the appearance of his Avengers once more. They all looked tired, as if they'd been spending every waking moment waiting for answers. Silence stretched between the group, broken moments later.

"If this is true then why take my Jane, why take Banner's lovely woman?" Thor inquired, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, continuing when he realised that everyone was now looking to him as if he suddenly held all the answers, "Surely it would be a better strategy to attempt to take Banner or myself; we are a far greater threat to any organisation."

Bruce's eyes widened, and he clasped his hands together.

"Maybe that's it: we're more of a threat." He muttered, hardly loud enough to hear; Tony waved his hand, encouraging Bruce to elaborate, "Think about it. Nobody could take the Other Guy, and Thor's too big to go down quietly, but take something we care about, and they can lure us right in. The same goes for Natasha, she may be little, but she packs a punch."

"Hold on!" Tony called, straightening out and raising his hands, remaining silent until all eyes were on him, "If these guys are taking out the weakest link, who did they think they were going to take out of Steve and I. We're both pretty awesome."

"You're pretty useless without your suit." Natasha commented with a smirk. Tony turned towards her, gesturing and leaning back into a mock battle stance.

"You wanna seejust how useless I am? Bring it on!"

"Everybody SIT DOWN!" Fury yelled, standing himself. Despite his glare, none of the Avengers seemed that quelled, and Tony was still throwing Natasha dirty looks, "That still doesn't tell us the point of this."

"Obviously they saw our moves in New York and decided they needed the heroes out of the way for whatever crazy-assed scheme they're brewing." Tony explained, raising his voice so that Thor knew not to say whatever he had opened his mouth to.

"They were British." Steve noted quietly. The others had almost forgotten he was there, as he had been deep in thought.

"What?" Fury demanded, folding his arms across his chest. Steve looked almost surprised that he had spoken at all, let alone that the others were waiting for a response.

"When we were fighting them in the Tower, I heard them speaking." He explained, looking between the team members, "They had British accents."

"So the British are coming! Great!" Tony replied sarcastically, wincing as Natasha's boot collided with his shin.

"Well that narrows it down," Bruce interrupted, his expression brightening, "British employees suggests British organisation."

"It also means I have to go talk to some politicians, get in touch with the British Secret Service, find out if anything weird has been going on over there." Fury reeled off, getting more frustrated as he carried on, "Marvellous! More paperwork!"

* * *

**And the ball is rolling! More exciting stuff should happen now, the plot is on the move**


	8. Holmes and Harkness

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, but Christmas is coming up and I'd love Marvel Studios and the BBC, so...get shopping**

* * *

Sherlock stormed through the heavy double doors, inwardly cursing every patented doily, every furnished oak chair, every high society bureaucrat to Hell. Mycroft's secret lair was hidden in the most pretentious, most idiotic _'Gentleman's Club' _that Sherlock had come across, and his cases had taken him to some cringe-worthy places; he was not in the mood for any of it today. John had been kidnapped from right under his nose, and if anyone would have witnessed it happening, _of course_ it would be his odious older brother.

The grand oak door to Mycroft's office was, to Sherlock's surprise, locked; he jiggled it four times just to make sure. _Some kind of client then, _he decided, _Never mind._ Just as he lifted his fist to pound upon the wood, his brother's tedious assistant scurried around the corner.

_A very important client, _Sherlock deduced, _She's looking far more harried than usual._

"You…You...Get in there and tell my brother I want a word!" he demanded, earning himself a steady-faced glare that could have put Mummy Holmes to shame. _No wonder Mycroft's so fond of her._

_"_Mr Holmes is currently occupied; you can wait for him to finish his meeting." She scolded him, turning away to begin sifting through a pile of papers on what would ordinarily be the secretary's desk. For once the Blackberry was absent. _A very, VERY, important client._

"I don't care if he's got the reigning monarch of a yet-to-be discovered continent in there! Dr Watson has been abducted and I WANT TO SPEAK TO MY BROTHER!" Sherlock yelled, going deathly still. A young man that had been passing by actually dropped the coffees he had been transporting, before tripping from sight. To her credit, the assistant didn't waver.

"I'm afraid Mr Holmes-"

At that moment there was a muted clunk, and the door swung open, revealing an irritable Mycroft Holmes, looking as put-together as always, his discontent given away only by the crinkles behind his knees and the improperly fastened waistcoat.

"Sherlock Holmes, the entire nation now knows that you want to speak to me, but I-"

"Mycroft, I'm coming in whether your _client_ is there or not!" Sherlock hissed, his patience already wearing thin. He _knew_ that Mycroft could see how upset he was (no one else would be able to), and the hypocrite dared to put him on hold after proclaiming his 'concern'. Mycroft held his gaze, and after a moment, rolled his eyes and stepped back into the room. Sherlock followed him before he could shut the door, and was met by the sight of a tall, dark-haired man in a coat clearly passed down from a relative, (_no charity shop sells genuine Second World War Trench Coats), _and a ridiculous smirk plastered across his face. The man's eyes swept down Sherlock's form in a way that made him uncomfortable, a sentiment added to by the tangible cloud of confident swagger that clung to the stranger.

"Well _hello…"_ the man let the words roll over his tongue, the syllables carried on a low American accent, as he strode forward with his hand extended, "Mycroft didn't tell me about _you." _

It had been too deeply ingrained into his psyche for Sherlock not to shake his hand, but he was glad of the barrier that the leather gloves provided, and he snatched it away after a fraction of a second.

"And you are?" he requested, scanning the man in the hopes of deducing a reason for him to be in his brother's office. It didn't fit; this man wasn't government, or any related branch, and every deduction Sherlock made was cancelled out by a contradictory one. _Clothes old, very old, older than him, but perfectly fitted to him, so not his father's, that's too much of a coincidence; shoes worn in, lots and lots of running, fast running looking at the angle, with at least eight different regions dirt ground into the soles, all fresh enough to be from the past few days, but how? Modern man, technology on every limb, and is that a weapons holster? But not a soldier or law enforcement, but important enough to be speaking to Mycroft…_

"Mr Harkness can wait outside." Mycroft cut through the mental ramblings, gesturing for the man, Harkness, to leave, and it appeared, putting himself between him and his brother. _Small mercies._

"That's Captain Harkness," Harkness corrected as he strode from the room, locking eyes with Sherlock, "Captain Jack Harkness!"

The door shut with a thud, leaving the brothers alone. Sherlock quickly disregarded the man, _Captain,_ and turned back to Mycroft, who had taken a seat on the opposite side of his desk.

"Mycroft, John's been taken-"

"I know Sherlock, half of England knows, you shouted quite loudly." Mycroft interrupted, his tone one of boredom, but he did at least begin typing on his computer, bringing up lists of results, "Believe it or not, I don't have the flat under surveillance, I do possess a modicum of respect for your privacy."

Sherlock threw himself back in his chair, clasping his hands under his chin.

"I know that. I need you to tell me which secret organisation is responsible; it'll probably have emerged at some point in the last four months." He explained swiftly, eyeing his brother, who to his chagrin mirrored his pose, thereby abandoning the computer.

"And you are certain from the way that the crime was carried out that this was not merely the actions of a single man?" Mycroft asked slowly, although he didn't look as if he were expecting a reply to the affirmative.

"Not the actions no, the thoughts maybe…but John is an adept soldier and the abduction was timed for the moment I left the room, obviously an organisation with some power." Sherlock muttered loud enough to be heard, staring at a patch of wall beside the window.

"Maybe an unusually proficient gang-"

"NO! It was an organisation, which is why I've come to you and not gone after them myself!" Sherlock snapped, meeting his brother's gaze. Mycroft held it for a moment; his eyes bored into Sherlock's as if trying to pry open his skull and pluck out answers.

"What aren't you telling me Sherlock?" he formed the words slowly, putting enough emphasis on them that he sounded authoritative. Sherlock scrunched his face, looking away before drooping into the guest seat.

"It's Moriarty," he whispered, running his hands over his face, then snarling, "But it can't be, so a copycat, or one of his employees that I missed!"

Sherlock heard Mycroft exhale sharply, and that momentary loss of composure made him look up from behind his hands.

"What?"

Mycroft actually twiddled his pen; _twiddled it._

"I believe your first assumption was the correct one." He admitted, glaring at the pen in his hand as if it had spouted something distasteful.

"Moriarty's dead Mycroft! I saw him blow his own brains out on top of Bart's." Sherlock stated plainly; that day was not one that he enjoyed remembering.

"And I saw his corpse get carted away, I accompanied right up to the body-bag," Mycroft retorted furiously, and Sherlock knew in an instant that something was very wrong, "And yet you are the third person today asking me about secret criminal organisations involved in kidnapping, and the second to claim that Moriarty is the one responsible. Hell, the man outside has actual video footage."

Sherlock leapt to his feet, charging towards the door and swinging it open. Captain Harkness stumbled backwards in such a way that it was obvious he had been listening at the door; he hastily slipped some kind of gadget into his pocket, that had been held at his ear moments before, but Sherlock didn't care to inquire about it.

"You miss me?" the Captain asked with a smile, his arms swinging outwards as if to welcome Sherlock into a hug. Sherlock stepped back into the room, allowing the captain to follow.

"You saw Moriarty?" he demanded, turning on the American and moving far too close into his personal space. Unusually, he didn't step back, forcing Sherlock to retreat to where Mycroft was now standing stiffly.

"The small Irish guy with the Westwood suit and the crazy eyes?" Harkness replied, taking an awkward breath when neither Holmes brother made a sound, instead glaring similarly at him as if he were something unsavoury from the bottom of their shoes, "Yeah I saw him; he and his armed goons snatched someone I'm rather fond of. I thought it was a way to get to me."

"Why would he want to get to _you?"_ Sherlock sneered, giving Harkness another sweeping glance, "Me he has reason to target, but _you?"_

"I'm quite high on the secret organisation pecking order!" Harkness maintained, and Sherlock was pleased to see that any intentions the man may have had towards him had been replaced by indignation, "And men coming back from the dead is right up my alleyway, I guessed that it fit."

Sherlock's interest perked up about hallway through Harkness' defence. _Of course,_ he thought eagerly, the fascination getting the better of him, _Mycroft, what have you been up to?_

"So you're one of the many secret projects that the British government's got hidden in the rafters then?" Sherlock asked, cutting off whatever the man had been rambling on about to Mycroft.

"I'm what you'd call a rogue element." Harkness smirked as he said it, "I notice you're not mentioning the resurrection thing?"

"There's got to be a perfectly reasonable explanation," Sherlock said dismissively, waving his hand as if to bat away the sentiment, "The more pertinent question is what these people want with the two of us; I can't think of how we're related, so it must be part of a bigger picture."

Mycroft had migrated back behind his desk, and was once again searching government databases as the two men talked.

"You're so certain that it's you they want." He commented, earning a withering glare from his brother.

"Well of course, take the weakest link and lure us in, what's important is _why?" _ Sherlock reeled off, his own smirk growing with the familiar joy that a case brought; he was about to address Harkness, who was watching the proceedings thoughtfully (Sherlock hoped that was what his expression revealed), before turning abruptly to Mycroft, his mind catching up with his mouth, "You said _third._ You said I'm the _third_ person to ask about secret organisations, who else have you talked to?"

Mycroft sighed, as if resigning himself to something he had never wanted to do.

"I was awoken this morning by a call from a charming American organisation called SHIELD." He explained wearily, looking between Harkness and Sherlock, who had both closed in upon hearing this new information, "They have found themselves victim to similar crimes as the two of you. You're right Sherlock, this is bigger; far bigger than anything you've encountered before, although I imagine Captain Harkness here will feel right at home."

"So we go to this _SHIELD_, and we work out how to get John back!" Sherlock stated, as if it were the obvious next step. It _was _the most obvious plan of action. If it would get John back, he was even willing to put up with these Americans for as long as need be.

"Sherlock these aren't just politicians!" Mycroft snapped, "These are the people that dealt with the problem in New York last year!"

Sherlock froze and let out a little 'oh'. Bigger then; _far bigger. _Mycroft had turned his attention back to the Captain.

"So you agree to accompany my brother to SHIELD headquarters and find out what is going on?"

"Of course, finding out what's wrong's my job." Harkness replied with a smile and a laugh that didn't quite meet his eyes, "You up for that Sherlock?"

Sherlock felt an elbow nudge into his side, and shook his head in an attempt to clear it. He stepped back from the desk, meeting Harkness' eyes.

"Yes…of course." He agreed, sparing Mycroft only a fleeting glance as he continued, "On a similar note: what is your _alleyway?"_

Captain Harkness chuckled and stuck his hands in his pockets, running his eyes down Sherlock _again. Damn, _he thought, _I'd hoped he'd stopped that._

"Have you ever heard of Torchwood?" Harkness asked, not discouraged when Sherlock didn't reply, "Don't worry about it; I'll explain everything on the way to the States."

* * *

**I'm sorry, the ones with Sherlock in always end up so long (You can tell who I love and who I don't mind getting kidnapped). Nevermind, got some Sherlock, got some Torchwood, what will it be next time? **


	9. The Lonely God

**Disclaimer: Nothing here is owned by me, I make no money from this**

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The thrumming hum pulsated through the very walls of the TARDIS, as if she were singing a lullaby to aid her oldest friend through the sharpest of dreams. The Doctor rocked imperceptibly in the swing beneath her glass floors, tinkering restlessly with the wires that controlled the Chameleon Circuit. He didn't want to fix it, of course, but it would be nice to know what was actually wrong.

_Something to do with binary…_ The Doctor shook his head sharply. There was no point looking back; especially not as far back as that. Maybe once he had finished here, he'd drop in to see Da Vinci, or maybe Cicero, see if they needed help with any tinkering. Come to think of it, Leo could use all the tinkering help he could get. Although, the last time he'd tried to help anyone Rory had told him in no uncertain terms that the Magna Carta was fine just as it was-_No._

The Doctor closed his eyes, slowly dropping his hands from the mesh of wires that hung limply from the internal workings of the ship. _No_, it was probably better for him to stay where he was, stop every now and then for chips, or one of those cakey things that the lovely old lady in Mycenae was selling the last time he was there.

_Just stop thinking about them,_ the Doctor thought to himself, _no point thinking aloud anymore._ He hoisted himself to his feet and tried to engineer a burst of motion, which carried him as far as the tattered chair facing the controls. He dropped into it, clasping his hands together.

"IT'S TOO QUIET IN HERE!" he yelled on a whim, giving into the momentary impulse. The TARDIS responded with the familiar bong reminiscent of a silver gong meeting the edge of an hourglass. _Dull! DULL DULL DULL! _The Doctor wasn't sure if he was frustrated with the world, or himself, _It's not like this hasn't happened before, just move on!_ Except it wasn't that easy.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, wallowing in a mixture of self-pity and self-hatred; at one point he began whistling a tune under his breath that he must have heard somewhere in the Roman Empire. _I'm so tired…_ -

The phone rang, but at the same time an alarm bell ripped through the air, punctuating each ring and making the Doctor jump as he was torn from his trance. The whole ship shook, as if it had decided it wanted to leave, but couldn't without permission. The gasping, wheezing rasp echoed in the off the walls. He leapt across the room, snatching up the phone and pressing it to his ear whilst yanking the small monitor towards him and identifying the source of the alarm. _The same place…that's odd._

"Hello?" he trilled; this had to be someone interesting, no one boring could have caused the TARDIS to react so erratically. The voice that emanated from the receiver made the Doctor freeze, and for a moment it was as if both his hearts had stopped, and the world around him faded into silence as the floor continued to shake.

"_Hello! It's me! I mean you-OTHER YOU! It's the other Doctor-Pete's world Doctor!_" the voice of his double was frantic, and it sounded as if he had been running, "_Please tell me this is the TARDIS!"_

The Doctor jolted and quickly pulled at the wibbly controls, whacking the triangular lever before pausing beside the monitor again, his fingers tracing his bow-tie subconsciously. A cold feeling of foreboding crept up his spine and unsettled his stomach as he peered suspiciously at the readings.  
"Yes. It's the Doctor. How are you calling me? I closed the bridges between the universes." The Doctor replied tonelessly; this could not be good, "In fact, what are you doing to the TARDIS?"

"I'm_ not doing anything to the TARDIS! That's why I'm calling!" _the Other Doctor answered irritably, "_It's Rose!"_

The Doctor really did freeze this time, and had to stop himself dropping the phone. _Oh,_ he inwardly cursed, _if anyone had taken getting over, it had been her._

"What do you mean it's Rose? What's she doing, and more to the point, why aren't you doing it too?" he demanded, tapping codes into the monitor so that he could get a wider reading. If the signals were coming from Pete's World, that meant an entirely different ballpark.

"_She went off on her own, took the Dimension Cannon and off she went!" _the Other Doctor swore under his breath, as the Doctor felt a momentary stab of panic and irritation, "_The steering's off on the cannon, so I'll assume the TARDIS is misbehaving?"_

"Yes! She's not behaving even a little bit, but that's to be expected when holes are being ripped in the universe; it upsets her a bit!" The Doctor growled; it wasn't the Other Doctor's fault that things weren't as chipper as usual, but he sure did provide something to aim at, "Now explain to me why Rose is trying to hop between universes when the two of you should be having tens of babies and competing for spouse of the year awards! I left you there for a reason!"

The TARDIS jolted and nearly threw the Doctor to the floor, but he was able to remain on his feet by pure luck. He knew what the Other Doctor was expecting; with no steering, Rose would just fire about as particles until she found a safe place to lock onto. All he needed to do was press a few buttons, break a few laws of physics, and the TARDIS could catch her; it looked like the ship had been trying on her own.

"_Things didn't work out quite as planned-just- they never do…" _the Other Doctor trailed off, and the Doctor was about to ask what he meant when the voice at the other end of the phone started up again, "_Just…catch her for me."_

There was a crash as loud as thunder, and the lights actually flashed off for a moment. The TARDIS shuddered violently, and a flash of striking blue light rent the air. The Doctor really did fall this time, dropping the receiver. When the ship had stopped rocking, and the lights were back to their normal warm glow, the Doctor looked up, and was met with the sight of a familiar young, blonde woman, crumpled on the glass floor. He scrambled to the receiver and held it to his ear.

"I've got her! She's unconscious but I've got her!" he yelled, feeling a rush of victory, and joy at seeing his old friend safe, before he remembered the matter at hand, "Now tell me what's going on; why aren't you here?"

There was a sigh from the other end of the line.

"_Get Rose to explain." _The Other Doctor sounded mournful, and the Doctor eyed Rose warily, trying not to feel guilty; it had been him that had left them there after all, "_Just let her know that I'm worried; she knows I still love her, just…it doesn't matter what we've said to each other recently, I still care."_

With that the call cut off, and the Doctor was left staring at the crumpled mass on the floor.

After a few moments, he tread tentatively towards her, and lifted her into his arms, depositing her on the ratty chair. It could have been hours or minutes before Rose began to stir, her nose wrinkling as she shook the blonde streaks from her face. Her brown eyes flickered back and forth as she took in her surroundings. The Doctor waited for her to sit up before saying anything.

"You, Rose Tyler, are a pest and a menace." He said fondly, folding his arms and leaning back against the console as she rushed into an upright position before falling back into the chair. Rose eyed him warily, her expression shifting into curiosity as her eyes trailed down his form.

"Doctor?" she asked, her voice strong but strained. The Doctor simply nodded, allowing her to take everything in. Truth be told, he wasn't entirely sure what to do; he had changed a lot since the last time they had spoken. Rose stood again, looking open mouthed around the Control Room.

"It's changed…" she muttered, before glaring at the Doctor, "You've changed! When did this happen?"

"A while back!" The Doctor replied defensively, trying to keep his cool, "Radiation poisoning; it wasn't pleasant. More importantly, I have some questions-"

"What the hell are you wearing?" Rose interrupted, stepping forward to trace the tweed coat and the bowtie with her fingers before pulling her hand away awkwardly.

"It's a bow tie; bow ties are cool." He maintained, straightening the aforementioned tie, "Anything else you'd like to state?"

Rose shook her head, and the Doctor realised that she was still taking him in with an expression of confused wonderment. Her hand seemed to move of its own accord, brushing his cheek lightly.

"It's still you?" she asked quietly, as if in prayer. The Doctor nodded, stepping away from her to tweak the controls.

"More or less." He replied, although one look at her face told him that she wasn't satisfied, "Now, you need to tell me what you're doing here, because I did not leave you with the clone just for you to ping off on your own."

At this Rose had the grace to look guilty, running her hand through her hair and mirroring his progress around the other side of the console.

"Do I not get a hug?" she tried, opening her arms.

"If you explain yourself, maybe." He replied, not meeting her eyes. Rose looked away; he had changed. It was almost like a cold, dark wall had taken up residence around him.

"Well…the Doctor, the Other Doctor and I…we just decided that we worked better as friends-" she began, before the Doctor cut her off, his hands flittering in front of him as he talked.

"But that's not how it works!" he insisted, "You're in love, you do coupley things! What happened to make you decide that you were better off as _friends_? And how does that lead to _here_?"

"There was this guy-" Rose started again, once again to be interrupted as the Doctor appeared by her side, standing well within her personal space.

"You left him for _another guy?"_ he demanded tensely, peering down at her, "I thought you loved him."

Rose stood her ground, glaring right back, folding her arms across her chest and attempting to look intimidating.

"I do love him; he's my best friend." She said firmly; the Doctor returned to his random tinkering, "I did not leave him for another guy, the other guy just happened to be part of the big picture that made us realise we didn't work."

"I don't understand," the Doctor bit back, and he was actually waving his screwdriver at her, "You're going to have to explain this event to event because I cannot see the thinking behind all this."

Rose exhaled loudly, throwing herself into the chair and looking down at her nails. The Doctor stopped his flittering and came to a stop opposite her. He couldn't fight the surge of guilt that he felt watching her try and put into words her predicament; she was so beautiful, and he'd missed her so much, but apparently everything that he'd put in place to ensure he could live with himself after leaving her had fallen apart. Rose pursed her lips, finally appearing sure of what she was going to say.

"You left, we carried on." She explained, waiting for the Doctor to nod before continuing; she spoke as if every word was against her better judgement, "Things were a bit rocky, and then this man turned up- an alien, Torchwood brought him in. He was just my friend, before you say anything!" she snapped sternly as the Doctor opened his mouth, "the Doctor decided it was best for us to try things apart, and that was fine. It really was fine, like I said, he's my best friend."

The Doctor nodded, listening intently as Rose thought about her next words.

"Then I said I'd look after the guy we found, and we got close…" Rose looked up at the Doctor, her brown eyes pleading him to understand, "We argued a lot; he can be a right tosser when he wants…but I love him. And I reckon he loves me."

"You reckon?"

"Yeah!" she argued, and the Doctor couldn't stop the smile that her confident tenacity brought to his lips, "I never meant to, I wanted it to be Rose Tyler and the Doctor forever, but you know what? I found something just as good." She trailed off again, her eyes dropping to her nails, "Long story short, the Doctor's not too fond of him, there've been lots of arguments, and after a big one a while back he takes the Cannon and disappears-I don't know where he's gone and I've only recently been able to sneak in to use the newer one."

The Doctor clasped his hands thoughtfully. He'd never expected anything like this, but, he supposed, at least she was happy. He realised that Rose had lapsed into silence.

"So your friend could be anywhere in this universe, and he disappeared quite a while ago?" he confirmed, spinning around to yank at the console when she nodded, "Well, I suppose I could track the energy signals that surround that kind of travel."

"Thank you." Rose sighed happily, and the Doctor turned to find that she had moved in beside him like she used to. There was a pleased smile adorning her lips, and he found it was a refreshing step into the past. The Ponds were happy, and Rose was here; what was the point in being miserable.

"So…what's this man's name?" The Doctor asked coyly, sticking his hands in his pockets and meeting Rose's eyes. She flushed pink and looked towards the ground; _Oh no, she probably did love this guy._

"His name's Loki."

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**Finally got to the Doctor and Rose-Roski on the way! Would love to hear what people are thinking so far, or any suggestions. Otherwise, enjoy**


	10. Avengers Assemble?

**Disclaimer: As usual, still not my stuff.**

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Sherlock sat in silence, his hands clasped beneath his chin as he allowed the persistent hum of the helicopter wash over him. Sat jauntily across from him was Captain 'call me Jack' Harkness, who to Sherlock's discomfort kept giving him appraising glances when he thought he wasn't being watched. He hadn't been told where they were going, although it didn't take long to figure out that they were heading towards the United States, probably to stop somewhere near the East Coast; _as if blacked out windows were of any use at all_.

The awkward quiet that had formed had its benefits; having one's entire belief system torn down and trampled over tended to call for a major mental reshuffling, and possessing one of Britain's greatest minds made the process even more strenuous.

_Aliens,_ Sherlock couldn't even halt the derision in his internal monologue, _of course they exist-those stories about Wi-Fi going mad, and whatever other spiel the government has been selling are obviously complete rubbish…but to have the proof thrust upon me in such a way._

Then again, the first few times they'd been invaded, Sherlock had honestly thought they were drug fuelled hallucinations; it was a shock when the BBC had shown a memorial story on the news the next year.

And to top it all off, the ridiculous man opposite him, who apparently couldn't separate his Id from his daily functioning, had been the head of the most secret of organisations regarding home-world security, and was _immortal_; the reports and pictures proved as much. _What a waste…_

But…if it would save John…Sherlock could endure. He had rearranged his heart for the man, surely it was of next to nothing to rearrange his mind. Nothing else could have persuaded him to board a vehicle on the promise of meeting some 'extraordinary people'. He'd read the files he'd been handed shortly after leaving Mycroft's office, and had openly scoffed at the idea of these _'_super-heroes'.

"We've landed." Jack's suave voice jolted Sherlock from his reverie.

"Clues to that being the eerie absence of rotor noise and the men hurrying to open the doors." Sherlock replied caustically, reaching down to unfasten his restraints. Jack rolled his eyes and slid from the helicopter with only a swift 'whatever you say'. Sherlock smirked; if one good thing had come from their enforced time together, it was that physicality aside, Jack couldn't stand him.

Sherlock stood beside Jack, willing to admit for once that he was impressed. Upon climbing from the helicopter, the last thing he had expected had been SHIELD's helicarrier. In fact, on a scale from airfield to underwater lair, this came very high. The miniature runways were teeming with agents, flittering back and forth, strapping down the recently discarded helicopter as the two passengers peered over the edge at the rippling ocean below, their long coats billowing in the wind.

"Well…this sure puts the Valiant in its place." Jack noted with an impressed whistle. Sherlock didn't bother to ask what the Valiant was; it was of no importance.

"I suppose it's of no surprise that the American government has this kind of technology." He commented disdainfully, before adding with a sideways glance at Jack "Especially considering what the British one has been covering up."

Jack grinned, clearly pleased that Sherlock was finally talking to him again, or at the acknowledgement that he had managed to wrong-foot the detective.

"Yeah, I suppose I should quote Shakespeare right about now, but you'd probably correct the reference." He laughed, elbowing Sherlock in the ribs in what he could only assume was a friendly gesture.

"I admire the sense of humour of whoever designed it." Sherlock remarked, his eyes focusing in on the helicarrier itself as he turned away from the ocean view. Jack looked momentarily confused.

"You've lost me, Sherlock."

Sherlock smirked and let out the first genuine huff of amusement since he had discovered that John was missing. He pointed towards the engine rotor, gesturing for Jack to look closely.

"That runway leads directly into the rotor," he explained, "If the pilots miss the landing or the take-off, they'll most likely be torn to shreds. Someone with the intelligence to design this ship would never have made such a fatal planning error."

Jack made a noise half-way between a laugh and a gasp, as if he wasn't sure whether to join in Sherlock's strange amusement, or be worried by it. He didn't have time to comment though, as Sherlock turned away from him, striding across the tarmac towards the red-headed woman making her way in their direction.

"You're not in charge, you're just an agent, but you _are_ of significant standing here. The fact that you're escorting us means that this case is _far _greater than I thought." Sherlock deduced emotionlessly, scanning the woman, whose only reaction was to quirk her eyebrow at him, "So tell me: what's going on?"

"Mr Holmes…I was told you'd do that; although to be fair, they said you'd tear out my deepest darkest secrets and throw them in my face, so I suppose I should thank you for being kind." The woman replied, and Sherlock could have sworn she was hiding amusement; her eyes had definitely gained a cheerful twinkle. Jack stepped forward, his hand extended.

"Captain Jack Harkness…_Hello…" _He drawled, taking the woman's hand when she didn't respond in likeness and placing a kiss upon it, "And who are you?"

Her hand was pulled away sharply.

"Agent Natasha Romanoff, and I'm kinda preferring the fake sociopath right now."

Jack's '_really?' _was almost drowned out by Sherlock's simultaneous '_fake!?'_

_"_Really." Natasha replied smoothly, before turning on her heel and gesturing for the two men to follow her lead, "Come on; there's some people I think you're going to like Mr Holmes."

A quick introduction to Nick Fury, who Sherlock had deemed boring and swept past onto the Bridge, had been followed by the entrance of each of the Avengers (those that were left), all of which Jack had ogled appraisingly and attempted to flirt with. Tony had been the only one to flirt back, but that had stopped the moment Steve entered the room. Sherlock watched this all happen in silence, standing back as he tried to deduce them; but there was too much information, and information that was an extremely long way out of his comfort zone. Yes, he had read the files, but nothing compared to having the facts sing from the people's presence.

There was the tall blonde man with more muscles than Sherlock had ever seen, who introduced himself as 'Thor of Asgard', and explained in booming tones (for the sake of the 'new mortal' that he was a god from another realm, and that it was of the greatest honour and shame that they should work together to find their lost ones. Sherlock wasn't overly fond of him, but he didn't seem to care when he noted where Thor had spent the last few months, or commented on his family issues, but had merely laughed joyfully and announced that the small man was on par with Asgard's best prophets; there was always room for niceties when an idiot appreciated his genius.

'Captain America', or Steve, as he asked to be called, was pleasant; not overly bright, but not stupid, and he too had been friendly, if not visibly unnerved at Sherlock's snappy account of his life. Again, Sherlock could stand the man, but decided to make an effort not to spend large amounts of time with him.

The scientist however! Bruce had sidled up to him as Sherlock had remained statuesque off to the edge, and Sherlock had found himself so interested, that rather than ask about his living conditions, or his, _well…condition,_ he had enquired as to what field of science he was an expert in. A man that understood chemistry, physics, _and _biology; large green monster that threw every assumption about human anatomy out the window aside, Sherlock was not going to waste having another advanced mind. It was a shame he was so…withdrawn.

Stark had wandered over to Sherlock and appeared to be scanning him in much the same way as Sherlock was him. An engineer and genius; he was definitely the man that had designed the helicarrier. Sherlock actually extended his own hand towards Tony, who looking surprised and gestured towards the others as he shook, appearing almost proud of himself.

"Wow, I feel flattered, I really do, Drac." He remarked as Sherlock withdrew his hand, "You looked almost pained to shake Banner's hand, and I get the impression you liked him."

"You're Tony Stark, genius billionaire, inventor of half of the United State's technology, including this mousetrap of a ship, you have an understanding of science that allowed you to create the 'Iron Man' suit, which looks ridiculous by the way, and discover an entirely new element whist inventing the first truly sustainable green energy." Sherlock replied, as cool as ever, but there was excitement in his eyes and voice, a smile tugging at his lips, "You're one of the few geniuses that nobody dare mock; in fact you're admired. I would be a fool not to shake your hand."

Tony looked shocked for a moment, and actually raised his hand over his chest in a flattered gesture.

"Wow…again with the wow." He said slowly, and then took up Sherlock's hand to shake thoroughly once more, "An actual fan of me rather than the magazine cover. It's nice to meet you…"

"Sherlock."

"Awesome," Tony replied, leading Sherlock towards the meeting table, "You're a detective right?"  
Sherlock smirked proudly, folding his arms over his chest as he took a seat between Tony and Bruce.

"That's correct."

Silence fell as Fury marched to the head of the table, dropping a handful of files down. Jack reached forward from his perch between Natasha and Thor, as if to take a look through the files, only to have his hand slapped away.

"To sum up why we're here, so that everybody is up to speed, there have been abductions _across the globe_ now, and they appear to have been performed by the same organisation." Fury explained snappily, as if the entire day had worn down on him until all that remained was a ball of irritation, "Would anyone like to add to that?"

Steve, who had been listening intently, sat to attention, turned in his seat to address the group.

"Whoever it is, is well trained and has a lot of money and resources; this isn't just a round-up of interesting people. We think," he said, looking to Sherlock and Jack, as the others had already discussed it, "that the abductions are all part of a larger plan to lure _us _in."

"We have yet to work out what the point of this is." Natasha chimed in, nodding gratefully to Steve as he allowed her to take over.

"What else does an enemy desire than to rid himself of those that could prevent him from performing his own schemes?" Thor asked rhetorically, "What they want to do is of far less importance than saving our friends and preventing the opportunity for anything to arise."

"I agree," Bruce raised his pen and waited for all eyes to fall on him, "There's no point looking at the bigger picture until we know who's responsible and where to find them."

"Precisely," Steve continued, "We need a plan of attack."

"I saw who's behind it." Jack called out, clapping his hands to draw attention to himself, "It's some guy named Moriarty. I think the fact that he is _supposed _to be dead tells us that there's a whole lot more going on here than criminal schemes."

"What do you actually know about this guy?" Natasha asked. Jack began to explain what he knew, whilst the others chipped in at various intervals; Thor mostly to acknowledge his displeasure with the idea that a man had risen from the dead to do…what?.

Sherlock watched the proceedings with his arms folded tightly across his chest, and his head down as his eyes flickered from speaker to speaker. He would never admit it, but he wanted John so much at that moment. This talk of resurrections and super heroes, and secret plots-it was all too overwhelming, too soon after having the world tilt on its axis and throw a chilly bucket of new information at him early that day. John would just stand up and tell them all to stop being ridiculous, that there had to be a more reasonable explanation as this kind of thing didn't happen in real life. But evidence of one's own eyes was evidence, and Sherlock would have rather been blind at that moment than be so far away from Baker Street with all of these strangers. In the midst of the talking and the melding of voices, Tony's voice rang out above the rest.

"What do you think Sherlock? You're smart, surely you've absorbed all this info and have something to add."

Tony's expression was kind, if you looked hard enough, and Sherlock realised that this was an attempt to get him to become a part of the group. The others were waiting for him to talk, and it hit him with a jolt of…gratefulness…that they actually wanted his input, unlike those that would ask for his help and then scorn the fact that he _could_ actually help.

"This sounds like exactly the kind of thing Moriarty would do; he lives-lived, only for entertainment…he's a psychopath, that's the only thing they can really feel." He voiced slowly, for once unsure of what he was saying, "But I saw him die; I saw him put a bullet through his skull."

"That's okay Poirot!" Tony replied, patting Sherlock heartily on the back, "We've seen some freaky-assed things. Casanova, you mentioned something about coming back to life-how feasible is that for this Dr Evil figure?"

Jack shrugged, winking at the mention of Casanova. Steve shifted uncomfortably in his chair and Natasha rolled her eyes.

"It's been done before; Torchwood investigated some stuff, but none were as sustainable as Moriarty's resurrection appears to be." Jack explained when Fury glared from his one good eye and ordered him to stop messing around, "I don't know of anything in particular, but like I said, it has been done. My problem is a once in a universe kinda deal, and I can't see my gorgeous friend managing it again."

"So we're a little clueless," Fury sighed, "_Great_!"

"Not entirely," Bruce spoke up, "We were able to track down the Tesseract last time Loki was here, so we already have the technology; with three geniuses here, and an expert on all things weird, it shouldn't be difficult to track whatever signal this guy gives off. We just look for strange and dangerous wavelengths and signals, there must be one…I mean, you don't raise the dead without leaving a trace."

Sherlock was almost surprised that he had been included in the genius count, and that it was just assumed that he had a kind enough heart to help when called.

"Raising the dead requires the darkest and most powerful of magics." Thor said gravely, bringing the almost jovial atmosphere crashing to the ground.

"It might just be super creepy science." Tony offered, although his tone wasn't hopeful. Fury stood up, shaking his head.

"Whatever it is, I want it found, and soon." He said sharply, taking care to fix his gaze upon every person at the table, most of whom stared back. Sherlock raised an eyebrow, wondering when these people had assumed that he was part of their team. Of course he would help, but because John needed him, not for the sake of a man in an eye-patch.

Steve had also gotten to his feet as Fury strode towards the front of the Bridge, and he addressed those at the table.

"Okay everybody, let's get to work."

* * *

**A super long one for everyone this time. I love writing the Avengers, although having them all in one place makes voices very difficult. Also, I couldn't help myself-Sherlock is a fan of Tony (I mean, he's a genius who rather than get mocked, is revered for his talents- everything Sherlock wants)**

**Hope you're all enjoying reading as much as I'm enjoying writing :-)**

**Hopefully next chapter should shed some light on the victims...any ideas, or hopes?**


	11. A Chilling Turn

**Diclaimer: Nope...just nope**

* * *

It had been two days. At least, he had been told that it had been two days; he had only been awake for a few hours, with a few patchy memories of the time in between.

John Watson had never been one to panic when it would do no good; he was a soldier, he had to keep a cool head. Especially when there were other people to look after. And there were other people, for once.

So he did what Sherlock would if he ever found himself in that situation; he observed, and tried to work out what the hell was going on. The room that they were being kept in was wide both ways, with a low ceiling, built of dark brick that was cold to the touch; there were no windows, and minimal lighting, so they were probably underground. Around the edges of the room were six steel beds, with thin mattresses, welded into the walls; four of these were occupied, but John was sure that there had been a fifth person there…at some point…a woman…but they were gone now. Each prisoner, John was certain now that they _were_ prisoners, was cuffed to their beds, attached via long chains that allowed movement in their own area, but not enough that they could physically interact with each other. So whoever did this didn't want them dead. John's first thought was that Moriarty was to blame, and he must have been dreaming about that when he was drugged, but that couldn't be true; Moriarty was dead.

That brought him to the people. There was one man, and two women, as well as him. The man, Clint, he'd said his name was, was American, and had apparently been trying to engineer an escape since the moment he had arrived. He'd even told John 'not to worry', and that 'everything would be fine', just to give his 'team' some time, and they'd 'kick the asses' of whoever had taken them. John hadn't reacted to being talked down to, but he had mentioned, on the side, that he was actually a soldier, and Clint had suddenly become far more conspiratorial. He was asleep now, curled with his back to the wall, tensed as if on edge, ready to pounce should someone walk through the door.

The first woman was definitely English; it was approximately 5.3 seconds before her sharp accent tore through the air, presumably hurling abuse at the person that John, in his just-awakened state, couldn't see leaving the room. Donna, she'd snapped when asked, had flaming red hair, and a temper that matched; when she saw John's appraising look, she had declared loudly that she already had a man back home, and not the sort that John would want to pick a fight with. _She_ hadn't taken Clint's protective stance on the chin, but rather called him 'sunshine' in a scathing tone. Once she'd calmed down though, she had actually been quite lovely, comforting everyone, telling that everything would be alright, but she denied ever having been in this kind of situation before. Now, Donna was sitting stiltedly on her bed, picking furiously at her cuffs, to no avail.

The other woman, Jane, she was quiet. She, unlike the other two, did not appear to have the situation under control, or be angry enough about it to yell her frustrations. She was stunning, John could tell that much from a glance, but she was also intelligent. Not quite Sherlock levels of genius, where he could tell your life story from the way you styled your hair, but science-clever; when prompted, she had explained that she was an astrophysicist, and then proved her smarts by reeling off explanations of what exactly she was studying, all of which flew straight over John's head. She, unlike the other two, seemed more concerned with who had taken them and why than how to escape; she had deduced very quickly that she had been taken to get to someone called 'Thor' (John assumed that his parents were the oldy-religion types), and that therefore, the others must have been taken for similar reasons. In fact, she was more upset that her boyfriend might be in trouble than the fact that she already was; _well, _John thought, _that was love._

Then again, once Jane had pointed out that Sherlock could be in danger, John's thoughts had turned to worrying about who wanted to hurt Sherlock this time. He hadn't been back long enough for someone to try and take him away again. _Cowards, _John inwardly cursed, _If they wanted a bash at Sherlock, they should have done it face to face._

That begged the question then, who could be so important that the others had also been taken as bait? Clint was enough of a danger himself by the look of it; John was beginning to suspect that he was some kind of Bond-like assassin, even though under the black coat he'd been provided with, he was only wearing beach-wear.

John sighed out loud, flopping back onto his bed. There was literally nothing he could do. He couldn't even work out why they were there. It was insane. The sound of someone shifting on their thin mattress caught his attention. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jane sit up and lean her elbows on her knees.

"John?" her soft voice called across the room.

"Yeah?" he replied. There was little else to do other than hoist himself into a sitting position to face the woman. She licked her lips, she must have been parched, so little water had been provided, but her eyes held a kind of confidence than was refreshingly encouraging in the current predicament.

"Who do you think's got us?" she asked, although it was clear that she only wanted a discussion, she didn't expect him to know, "I mean, they've gotta be powerful, to snatch all of us the way that they did, and they gotta have big plans, if they're going after people like Thor, Bruce, and Natasha."

John didn't know who Bruce and Natasha were, but it had become apparent early on that Jane, Donna, and Clint all knew each other distantly, if only by name. That, if anything, made him feel more scared than he was; if Sherlock was getting tied up with something this big, they'd both get pulled down.

"Well…I don't think this is something that we can look at from underground," John answered slowly, after a moment's thought, as he gestured around their prison, "I mean, I've watched my friend, Sherlock, get targeted like this before…but that was so that this psychopath could have his fun, and then remove the threat that Sherlock posed to his bigger business plans." Jane nodded in understanding ,and Donna had stopped rattling her chains, although she didn't look up, "What I mean is…whoever took us, they must want to lure in whoever's willing to come and save us. In my case, that's Sherlock…in yours, 'Thor'…then they get rid of them, so that they can do something even worse."

"Well we can't just sit around then, we need to learn whatever we can next time that guy comes in." Jane said firmly, looking to Donna, who nodded in agreement.

"We can try." John muttered; he didn't hold high hopes for getting information out of anyone that could kidnap the four of them with such ease.

"We'll do more than try!" Donna cut in, looking between the two of them, her eyes burning, "If they think they can treat us like this, then try and hurt our friends, they've got another thing coming."

John wasn't sure how to reply to that, so merely nodded his assent.

"What I don't get," Clint's voice broke the silence, and John jumped, as he hadn't heard so much as a change in breathing patterns from the man who was now perched on the edge of his bed, "Is why you're even here John."

"To get to Sherlock." John suggested. It was obvious why he was there; that was the only reason he _ever_ got kidnapped. Well, apart from that time that the circus had thought he _was_ Sherlock.

"No, that's not what I mean. What I mean is, why even go for this Sherlock guy?" Clint continued, drawing the attention of the three other occupants as the tension in the room grew tauter than it had been, even before, "The rest of us, we're attached to this group called the Avengers, and to SHIELD. You don't need to know what that is…let's just say, the kind of trouble that bad guys would want to stop us interfering with, is 'saving the world' kind of trouble."

"But Sherlock doesn't save the world, he's not even interested!" John insisted; he realised that he was now _way_ out of his depth, and the chill that had been threatening to creep up his spine from the moment he woke up began its ascent, "He's just a detective."

"Exactly!" Clint replied, clasping his hands together and pointing at John, as if he'd got a question right in class, "Get rid of the Avengers, take over the world; but include this detective…that's personal."

"So who's got a grudge against Sherlock?" Jane asked quickly, shuffling to the edge of her bed.

At that moment the door to the room swept silently open, and John only cut his reply off because of the funnel of warm light that poured into the room as it did so.

"I rather think _I_ do." Answered a soft, lilting voice, that managed to warp an otherwise dulled Irish accent. John was on his feet in seconds, a mixture of fury and terror pulsing through his veins fast than his heart could pump it. He wasn't sure if he was trying to back away or charge forward, but neither occurred as the chain attached to his wrist kept him rooted to the side of the bed.

"_YOU! NO, NO…NO!" _John shouted, and he barely noticed the way that Jane and Donna flinched back at his anger; flinched from him, not the other man, so he must have visited before, "_YOU'RE DEAD!"_

James Moriarty extending his arms either side and did a little twirl on his heels, smirking wickedly as he did so. His eyes, empty yet piercing at the same time, bore into John.

"I was Johnny-Boy, I was." He said darkly, and John couldn't be sure if that was menace or enjoyment, "And I've got a pretty good idea of who I should blame for that."

"You know this guy?" Clint's voice once again cut across the tense atmosphere that had formed, but John was still fuming far too hard, his chest heaving too quickly for him to formulate a response. It didn't matter though, as Moriarty was there to fill the gap.

"Of course we know each other," he drawled, looking down his nose at Clint as if he were something off the bottom of his shoe; nothing like the way Sherlock would, John reminded himself, "You watched me stand over him for an hour and a half when he first got here, and before he woke up. Do you honestly think I'd waste that kind of time on you plebeians?"

"What the _hell_ is going on here?" John was finally able to hiss through gritted teeth. Moriarty cocked his head, and then actually looked towards Jane as if waiting for her opinion as to whether he should reply. When none was given, he rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to John.

"Oh…things far bigger than you, with your medical degree and your battlefield of London, could ever hope to imagine." he explained in a stage-whisper; Clint shifted and tensed, listening intently, "I just want Sherlock here so that I can _thank_ him for opening my eyes to the possibilities that I never would have seen had I not put a bullet in my brain. As for the rest of it…press-ganged suicide bombers and demon hounds are like ants, tiny, _miniscule insects_, compared to what we have planned."

Nobody but Moriarty breathed, and John didn't know what to do. His mind was reeling. Moriarty was dead, but he was there, and Sherlock was in incredible danger. Everyone was in incredible danger. His knees seemed to give way, and he managed to drop onto his bed, the chain clanking fitfully against the steel.

Moriarty's expression had shifted from malevolent to bored, and he was picking at his nails.

"Well…" he drawled, looking at the prisoners one at a time, smirking at Jane when she averted her gaze, "I'd best be off…the powers that be are unexpectedly incapable of coping on their own."

He turned on his heel, his designer shoes squeaking on the tiled floor. He had nearly made it through the door when Donna called out after him, making him halt in his tracks.

"What happened to that other woman?" Donna demanded, her face set, and her eyes defiant; John was torn between pride and fear on her behalf, "The one that was here before, she said her name was Lucinda-"

"Oh her?" Moriarty glanced around the room, and shrugged dismissively, "She was so _boring_, always crying: '_who are you?' 'Why are you doing this?'"_

"Where is she?" Donna repeated, her bottom lip coming close to a pout as she refused to be cowed. A chilling smile appeared on the psychopath's lips, but his eyes remained dead, cold.

"I had her fed to the dogs." He replied emotionlessly, following it up with a small chuckle, "That, I'll admit, wasn't so boring."

_"Oh god…" _John muttered, and he heard Jane whimper, as Donna bit out something that sounded like '_you bastard!"._ Only Clint remained unmoved, the widening of his eyes the only indication that he was disturbed by the man who was again striding towards the door.

"You said _we!" _Clint called after the retreating figure, "Who else is working with you?"

Moriarty didn't stop this time, and John was eerily reminded of the criminal's exit from the pool, that night so long ago, as his sing-song voice floated back into the cold brick prison.

"Oh don't you worry you heads about that…very soon you'll all be kneeling before your Master."

* * *

**Ok, I'll admit, this was dark. I actually felt bad writing it. But...did you see that coming? **

**Moriarty is so hard to write, but I hope I've done him justice**

**Thank you to everyone who's been commenting so far, they've been lovely**


	12. Science Buddies!

**Disclaimer: still nothing belongs to me**

* * *

The lab in the Helicarrier was pristine, and kitted out far more extensively than the one at Bart's. If things hadn't been so urgent, Sherlock might have actually commandeered his own workspace. As it was, once the 'Avengers' had dispersed, and Jack had been led away to talk to Fury, Sherlock had found himself joining Tony and Bruce flit between holographic screens (that he _needed _at home) as they ran about thirty different diagnostics through the system.

The science was easy to understand, although the premise was so far from Sherlock's view of the world that he had a hard time restraining his disbelief. While Bruce muttered under his breath about 'any abnormality', and 'any kind of reading not native to Earth', Tony sat on one of the desks, his legs swinging as every now and then he moved something across the screens.

"So what're you thinking?" Tony asked out of the blue, his gaze trained on Sherlock, who looked up immediately, but didn't answer straight away, "I mean, this is all new to you, but you must have some ideas."

Sherlock shrugged, and returned to peering at the data as it rippled and danced about the room.

"My areas are more restricted to chemistry, biology, and the science of deduction; although I understand completely what I'm seeing, I won't be able to offer any original ideas." Sherlock replied solemnly, noticing from the corner of his eye the new aerial image the Bruce pulled up, "One thing I can help with though is spotting a pattern."

"So you're a specialist! Me too, although as an inventor original ideas are rather my forte." Tony said confidently, striding across the room to sidle up beside Bruce, clapping Sherlock on the back as he passed, "On that note, I checked out your website, and you're hilarious."

Sherlock took a deep breath, his shoulders stiffening. Tony didn't seem to notice as he reached over Bruce's shoulder to move the images around, which then opened another page, this one overlaid with blue streaks.

"You don't believe that what I do is genuine?" Sherlock asked coldly; he had thought that he and Tony were getting on so well, but he was no stranger to the doubt that overshadowed his work.

Tony's head shot up in surprise, and he raised his hands minutely in a posture of sarcastic defence.

"Oh no, I think you're a full on genius; your science is inspired." He assured the detective, who relaxed almost imperceptibly, "I meant your sass. God knows if I made even a passing comment about killing anyone for a cigarette, the press would be all over it."

"Well it's not really proper form for a man with the ability to level a small town to joke about it," Bruce interjected, glancing at Sherlock with what he swore was a conspiratorial smirk (which was odd; only John shared jokes with Sherlock, and that was because friends did that kind of thing), "But honestly Sherlock, if you know what's good for you, don't touch the man's scotch."

Tony shook his head and gestured for Sherlock to join them. His coat swept around his ankles as he settled on Bruce's other side in front of a translucent world map, across which there were scattered at least twelve bright orange streaks.

"I don't know Dr Banner, I read your file, though I don't believe it." Sherlock jabbed under his breath; there was no harm getting into the camaraderie, it was obviously only to keep his mind from seething in worry. Tony let out a bark like laugh and Bruce glanced over his shoulder, a smile tugging at his lips.

"You can call me Bruce," he said quickly, "and you'll be lucky if you never get given reason to believe it."

"But if you really want to find out, we can shake him really hard." Tony offered, going so far as to grab Bruce by the waist, nudging him again when his hands were brushed off.

"I think I can cope not knowing." Sherlock assured him, narrowing his eyes at the seemingly random assortment of orange markers, and comparing them with the relevant data, "What are these? This data doesn't look like that of a signal or radiation."

Bruce perked up, pushing his glasses further onto his nose as he minimized the map and brought forward another one full of readings.

"They're not signals or radiation, they're just permanent structures." He explained, sighing when he saw Sherlock's raised eyebrow, "This is the deepest kind of quantum mechanics…if we imagine that the universe we see is the software that we interact with, these cracks are like tears in the fabric of the universe, and the data I'm getting from them is like the coding hardware. Look, there's one over the Bermuda Triangle area, one of the coast of China…one over Cardiff, that's just random to the extreme…"

"That is fascinating…" Tony was muttering under his breath. Sherlock let it just fly over his head; he couldn't deal with even more tilts of his world axis today.

"Does this have anything to do with helping me find John?" he demanded, pointing at the screen without touching it, for fear of wiping away anything important, "Because I can't see how it would."

"I'm getting to that," Bruce replied firmly, waving Sherlock's hand away, "There's a kind of energy surrounding these, I mean, there would be, but if you look at this map," he pulled up another aerial map which now had faint pink areas scattered across its width, "This energy also appears in a few locations that aren't over one of these rifts. See, there's a little residual stuff around London, and some more around New York, although that's fading. There's also some on the Western side of the Arctic Circle which looks newer, but it's only a small concentration."

Sherlock shook his head, moving away from the others so that he could pace back and forth, his hands clasping in front of his face.

"So what you're suggesting is that whoever took John and everybody else must be the same person who has managed to put that energy where it shouldn't be."

"Well they have the power to bring people back from the dead," Tony muttered, loud enough for the other two to hear, "It would be stupid not to check these places out, just in case our kidnappers _are _using this universe bending power."

At that moment Steve marched through the door and looked between the three scientists. Sherlock paid him no notice, refusing to halt his pace and only sparing a second to tell him that,

"You look ridiculous."

"Charming," Steve replied caustically, striding instead towards Tony and Bruce, "Fury wants us moving soon and Natasha's practically itching to start looking for Clint on his own."

Tony placed a hand on Steve's arm in an attempt to be comforting, but that had never really been his strong point.

"You're in luck Cap, Bruce thinks he's found us a handful of locations to check out," he offered, ignoring Sherlock's exclamation of '_useless', _as he stopped pacing and slumped onto the nearest desk, "They might be duds, but it's a start."

"Okay, so we split up and get a feel of the areas before calling in the others if we find anything." Steve remarked, already slipping into the role of commander. Tony gave a little mock salute before Bruce interrupted.

"No, we don't need to split up." He insisted, which even gained Sherlock's attention, "These other energy readings are faint, and some are fading. But there is one that's bigger than the rest, and its actively pulsating…it's like a chemical reaction before the explosion."

"So they must be using some kind of machine, or generator…but that doesn't mean they're keeping the prisoners there." Sherlock reeled off under his breath, his eyes flickering across the room as he deduced. Steve gave him a curious glance, but Tony waved him away and pulled him closer by the arm, whispering for him to '_leave him to it'._

"So where's this reading coming from?" Steve asked, waiting for Bruce to answer before Tony could pull it up on his own screen.

Bruce checked the information in front of him again, just to make sure he got it right, and then replied with a flawless accent,

"It's in Norway, a place called Dårlig Ulv-Stranden. Or Bad Wolf Bay."

* * *

**Viola! **

**This one is shorter as life is hectic at the moment, but hopefully it's a nice interlude, and has linked together a few things.**

**Watch this space, things are about to get even more confusing**


	13. Bad Luck Bay

**Disclaimer: Nothing here is mine, except the insanity that you see unfolding**

* * *

Stepping from the jet after the far too long flight to Norway was a welcome relief, loathe as Sherlock was to admit it. True, he had grown to almost like the company of Tony and Bruce, and the others weren't terrible, but their never ending stratagems, and the hostile flirting that Tony and Steve were exchanging had begun to grate on his patience after the first twenty minutes. Natasha had spent the flight at the front with the pilot, and Thor had remained mostly silent, something that Sherlock had started to appreciate in the otherwise predictably dull man. Thankfully, Jack hadn't joined them; he had offered to investigate the smaller areas of activity, disappearing with a crackle after tapping a device that he had strapped to his wrist.

What bothered Sherlock more than the Avengers and their cosy teamwork was the worry that had been gnawing on his guts from the moment he had first realised that John was missing; the guilt didn't help either. This entire mission seemed pointless as far as he was concerned.

_"Why would Moriarty, or any mastermind, have set up camp on a beach?" he had demanded, looking incredulously between Bruce and Tony, ignoring Steve, who was already relaying the information to Fury and Natasha via an earpiece, "That makes absolutely no sense! We should be searching the other sites!"_

_Bruce had shaken his head and smiled in a way that Sherlock could only imagine was placating._

_"The other signals were just remnants, like a carbon footprint of where these guys have been," he explained softly, and Sherlock resented the patronising tone, "This one's huge, and it's happening now. Maybe their base isn't the beach, but we might find a lead there."_

_"Yeah, you never know Poirot, we might find some handy minions to question." Tony added, nodding encouragingly. Sherlock had paced violently, side-stepping Natasha and Thor as they had entered the room._

_"We have a minion and he's not talking!" Sherlock had snapped, "The best thing we can do is keep looking through what we have, not chasing random steams of data that could lead us nowhere."_

_He had been stopped in his tracks as Thor placed a heavy hand on his shoulder, effectively preventing his from pacing, and keeping him fixed regardless of the dirty looks that the detective threw upwards._

_"The best strategy is to explore every possibility, no matter how ridiculous you may find it." Thor said firmly, "You must not give up hope, Sherlock, we will find your friend, and ours, so long as we do not take up fighting amongst ourselves."_

_"Exactly," Tony had said, patting Sherlock on the back, wincing sympathetically at the pathetic expression on the detective's face, "Now, I'm going to suit up. Everyone better be ready to leave by the time I get back, 'cos, I don't waiting well."_

_Tony left the room, and for a moment there was silence, broken only by the sound of the fabric of Sherlock's coat scratching from Thor's reach as he shook away the over-large hand and resumed his pacing._

_"You think I don't miss Clint?" Natasha had shattered the tension by immediately intensifying it, "or that Bruce doesn't miss Donna, or that Thor isn't torn up about Jane?"_

_Sherlock had frozen, and stared back at the red haired woman, wondering how she managed to be so open whilst remaining almost unreadable. At the same time, he hated that she could read him so well._

_"You don't understand." He dismissed her question. _

_"I understand perfectly Mr Holmes, and I think it would be far better for you to accept that we're all in the same boat, and all far further adrift than we'd like to be right now." She replied sternly, glaring across the room at him. The moment's staring had been broken, Sherlock regretted, as he had been the one to look away first. As no retort came, the team dispersed, Natasha and Bruce striding from the room, followed by Thor, who had patted Sherlock on the back as he passed. He wasn't sure why they all kept doing that._

_"You don't have to come if you don't want to, but I'll keep a seat open for you." Steve told the detective as he too had made to leave, "I'll give you half an hour."_

_And then he too had left, also giving Sherlock a comforting thump on the back as he passed._

So now here they were, standing outside the SHIELD jet, none of them willing to move too far onto the beach; although there was nothing there to stop them. The beach was dreary, the tides climbing hurriedly onto the rocks and lowest sand banks before petering out and retreating into the watery mass that was the sea. There was nothing out of the ordinary, nothing strange or dangerous that Sherlock could see, just a consistent, weighty silence that permeated every grain of sand.

Steve was the first to stride forward, taking the position as leader to heart.

"Alright, we've been here long enough." He ordered, turning to face the team, "Bruce and Tony, you start scanning, and whatever you do; find out where that energy reading is coming from and what it is."

Tony, now in full Iron Man gear, which Sherlock had to admit, was a genius piece of engineering, followed Bruce across the sand, stumbling slightly as the two of them waved identical portable scanners to and fro in the air.

"Thor and Natasha, you spread out and keep watch for anything that might be a threat; we don't know if our enemies are hiding, or if they're even here, so be careful." Steve instructed, nodding to the West and East sides of the beach. Sherlock rolled his eyes; this was useless, over cautious and pedantic. Natasha did as she was told, and Thor headed in the opposite direction, nodding to Steve with a quick.

"My pleasure."

Steve nodded in return, then turned his attention to the detective.

"Sherlock, you-"

"I'm not one of your team; I don't need my commanding officer to tell me where to stand." Sherlock snapped, striding past Steve, whose mouth had clamped shut, ignoring the way that his feet sank into the sand as he stood in the now empty space and watched the others stroll about the beach, "And this is ridiculous."

Steve walked over to stand beside him, and Sherlock had to force himself not to flinch away. _God, _he thought, _I'm too on edge, I need to calm down and think._

"You may think it's ridiculous. It may be, I'm no genius, I don't know." Steve said quietly, "But you're a scientist, you believe what you can see, what's there. You can't tell me you don't feel that?"

"Feel what?" Sherlock hissed under his breath; there was nothing to feel. Nothing other than the crushing agony of the blatant emptiness that John's absence was imposing, and the uselessness that being in this place was bringing.

Steve shrugged his shoulder, folding his hands over his chest. He shook his head, as if trying to clear it and looked down at Sherlock, who merely waited for an answer.

"It's like the beach is holding its breath." Steve muttered, his eyes following the path that Tony's suit was creating as he strode back and forth on the sand, forming thin ridge that snaked and curled as he span with the scanners in his hands.

"Ridiculous." Sherlock repeated, but there was no fire behind the statement. Now that he thought about it, the anxiety that had been there since the start had intensified since the engines in the jet had shut down. It was like an itching under his skin, which made him rub at the skin on his wrists, and become restless the second that his hands tucked into their respective pockets. His mind couldn't settle, and he knew deep down that it wasn't just the flow of information and new reality that was causing it. It wasn't like the beach was holding its breath; it was like the beach was watching them, waiting for them to do something, holding the bow over the string until one of them could think of the perfect note. As ridiculous as it was, Sherlock couldn't fight the feeling that the beach was expecting something.

Suddenly Tony's voice rang out over the space between them.

"Banner! Banner, tell me you're seeing this!" he yelled, running in a bust of red and gold towards where Bruce had frozen.

"I'm seeing it Tony," Bruce replied, "Just having a hard time rationalising it."

Steve immediately jogged towards the pair without a word, and Sherlock followed closely behind, almost barrelling into Bruce in an attempt to see the now caterwauling scanner in his hand. Natasha and Thor had obviously heard the commotion, as moments later they had crammed around the edge of the group, peering at the readings.

"I don't understand, what's happening?" Sherlock demanded, just as Steve began asking the exact same question. For all that they were frantically gathered, the beach remained unmoved and silent.

"The energy and radiation readings just spiked, like a lot." Tony replied sharply, pulling up his visor so that he could glance around, "Apparently something huge is happening right now, but we can't see or hear, or feel it."

"Maybe my equations were wrong…" Bruce muttered under his breath, tapping the scanner.

"No, you are correct." Thor cut in, staring out at the sea as if it were staring accusingly back, "I can feel something, although I know not what."

Sherlock turned his head upwards to glare at Thor, although it was difficult as the team had packed so closely together.

"You can't just say something's happening because you have a _feeling_." He protested, but Thor silenced him with a wave of his hand.

"I am of Asgard; my senses are far more powerful than your own." Thor declared in a way that begged no arguments.

"All of you need to stop so that we can figure out-" Steve tried to instruct them, as Natasha began talking over the men: "That's all well and good, but now what do we-", and Tony spoke up, "So we have this invisible activity-", and Bruce tried to make himself heard, "Guys, these readings are spiking again!"

At that moment the wind picked up, gusting a sweep of sand into the mid-sections of the Avengers and the detective, before curling around them to meet another violent gust of air. The team fell silent, watching with bated breath as the beach seemed to exhale, relinquishing its pent up frustration.

There was a noise like a thousand keys being dragged across the strings of a piano, a gong ringing out over and over in a hollow cave, as some gargling sea-creature gasped for air as it surfaced. Sherlock wasn't one for grand statements, but it sounded like someone was trying to tear through the fabric of the universe, and the universe was gritting its teeth at the discomfort.

Metres in front of them, a blinding light pulsed and throbbed into existence, and when Sherlock could bar to open his eyes again, he promptly snapped them shut. Behind him, he felt Thor shift onto his back feet, raising his hammer, and the others braced themselves against each other, ready to defend themselves if need be. As he opened his eyes again, he was forced to accept that he wasn't hallucinating.

Before the six of the, fading in and out, becoming more solid each time, now visible through the golden light, was the silhouette of a box. A blue box, with the words _'Police, public call, Box'_ emblazoned above the crystalline opaque windows, from which the winds, and the roaring seemed to emanate. A sound like a gong rang out, and finally, the winds dropped, and there was silence.

The beach was breathing again, but the people huddled in its centre were not.

Nothing happened, and for once, Sherlock had nothing to say. Tony had no such problem.

"Is it too late to side with Sherlock and say that this is just ridiculous?"

Sherlock felt Steve shake his head, and lift his arm to rub his hand over his eyes.

"I'd say it's the perfect time." He croaked, and then after a pause, "I haven't seen one of those since before I was frozen."

"Is this something you often saw them do?" Thor asked warily; nobody had moved from the huddle, too afraid, and shocked to step forward.

"I realise that history is not something I show much interest in," Sherlock said slowly, taking his time to soak in the fact that everything going on around him at that moment was _completely impossible_, "But even I know that the British Empire would have won the war a lot more quickly had we been in possession of phone-boxes that defy all laws of physics."

"But not the laws of Quantum physics!" a cheery voice called out, as the door to the police box swung open abruptly and the head of a man adorned with scraggily black hair popped out, "Sorry, I couldn't help listening in over the scanner."

The Avengers jumped, and within seconds each of them was in battle stance, their weapons pointed at the man's head. Sherlock had reached for John's gun, but didn't move from his place behind Tony. It would have been stupid to leave the protection of a man whose armour could deflect bullets.

"Oh _really," _the man scolded, "Guns? I only came here to check out some energy readings I've been following, you know, helping out a friend. I'll be out of your hair once I've done that."

He stepped out of the box, pushing the door partly closed, despite the female voice that was echoing around the interior in a way that it really shouldn't have been in such a confined space. Now that Sherlock could see him properly, he became even more frustrated; the only thing that he could deduce was that he had appalling fashion sense, as he had matched tweed with a spotty bow-tie.

"Who the hell are you?" Natasha demanded, her pistol aimed between the heads of Bruce and Sherlock, directly at the man's heart.

"I'm the Doctor," he replied with a smirk that made Sherlock understand what John had meant when he had told him that there were many people that wanted to slap him, "You can trust me."

Thor had dropped the hand holding the hammer, and stumbled forward before clearly thinking the better of it and pausing.

"I have heard of a man that goes by the name of Doctor; he is a fairy-tale among the Aesir." He said, ignoring the frustrated glances that Steve and Tony were throwing him, "Tell me where you are from and what that science you travel in is, and I will believe you. If you cannot then I will not trust you."

The Doctor smiled at Thor, and clapped his hands together, glancing between them all.

"I'm a Timelord, from the planet Galifrey in the constellation Kastarberous, and this is my ship, the TARDIS." He explained, his smile growing as the tension in Thor's shoulders released, "and I'm going to assume that you are Prince Thor of Asgard, which means that these people here are the Avengers of Earth."

"How can you possibly know that?" Steve asked, but it was Thor that answered.

"He is a Timelord." Thor declared, smiling to his friends as if that answered everything, "The Timelords were once seen like gods, and this Doctor is the most virtuous of all. We have nothing to fear."

Sherlock shook his head but couldn't think of anything to add to the discussion that would have been even a little bit useful. Instead he watched as the Doctor opened the door of his box a crack and called in,

"Rose, have you got the thing yet?"

The woman's voice drifted back out,

"Just a minute!"

The Doctor turned back to the group still huddled together on the sand, frozen in confusion.

"So let me get this right in my head," he said, almost as if to himself, "Thor," he greeted the Asgardian and shook his hand heartily, before moving towards the group and taking the hand of each in turn, "Which means that you're Tony Stark; well done for ditching the weaponry by the way." Tony muttered a bemused thanks as the Doctor moved along, "And Dr Bruce Banner…your research is profound, and I always get a kick out of watching your greener side smash things. That's a trademark right of the cuff." Bruce just shook his head, allowing his hand to be taken and then discarded, "Natasha Romanoff, just brilliant! And Captain Steve Rogers, I salute you." The Doctor popped his hand to his head and gave a mock salute, "Barton's missing…well, I suppose that it's too much to ask for the complete set…but who have we got here?"

Sherlock fought the temptation to retreat, as the others had all relaxed, too bemused and befuddled by the strange man, apparently alien, to feel that he was much of a threat. Sherlock on the other hand did not like it at all; time travel? Aliens? Omniscience? One giant, all-encompassing NOPE.

"I might be wrong, but you look to me like Mr Sherlock Holmes." The Doctor mused, taking Sherlock's hand without permission and giving it a perfunctory shake, "An honour to meet you."

There was something in his tone that set Sherlock's teeth on edge; the warmth that had filled his voice as he greeted the others had evaporated, replaced by curiosity, yes, but also something that sounded an awful lot like disapproval.

"I'm afraid that I can't return the sentiment." Sherlock remarked coldly, pulling his hand from the Doctor's grasp, "I know neither who you are nor why you're here, which considering we came here on the trail of what could possibly be the people who have stolen our friends and want to lure us into an unknown situation, makes me disinclined to trust you."

The stark reminder of why they were there made the Avengers stiffen, and the suspicion was once again in their eyes. Tony and Bruce's eyes were flickering between the Doctor and the box, from which a blonde haired woman was cautiously peeking, and Natasha and Steve had their arms raised defensively.

"I told you, I'm following an energy leak-"

"We followed energy readings to this spot." Bruce cut in, gesturing with his scanner, "We thought that is the people that had stolen our friends had managed to resurrect someone, then they were probably connected to this universe bending energy."

"Resurrection?" the Doctor repeated incredulously, before shaking his head and pulling a strange metal device from his pocket and waving it in the air, where it produced a tinny whine, "No, that's not important. And it's not universe bending energy, it's a form of Huon energy that you find around rifts, the void and the time vortex. There's always residue when someone time travels, or jumps across space."

Sherlock wasn't sure what to make of that, but was perfectly sure of what he made of the way that the air seemed to ripple as the whining of the metal device increased.

"But this isn't residue, it's happening now!" Bruce insisted, as Tony shouted, "What the hell are you doing!"

"I'm making the vortex horizon visible to the naked eye, so that I know where to open it." The Doctor explained, although if Sherlock was honest with himself, it was as if the Doctor was ignoring the group of confused people on the beach, and going about his own business.

"I would not do that Doctor," Thor warned, holding his hammer aloft, "We have only recently dealt with one portal to another realm, I do not think Midgard is ready for another so soon."

"If you threaten our planet, we will have to take you down." Steve assured him, his shield raised. The Doctor shook his head, looking at them as if _they_ were mad.

"I'm not threatening, I'm just letting in a friend." He stressed, and then turned to the blonde woman, who had still not left the box, obviously waiting to see whether she would get shot on sight when she did, "Rose, hand me that so that I can open this."

The woman, Rose, wandered from the box, replying with a 'sure' in a cockney accent which Sherlock triangulated to somewhere near the Powell Estate. He wasn't sure what was happening, and the fear that he had felt during the case at Baskerville was back tenfold, only intensified when the others gasped at the sight of what was in her hand.

The Doctor took from his young companion a silver sceptre, pointed and lethal, with a vast blue gem fixed in the top that seemed to almost pulsate the nearer it got to the rippling air.

"Where did you get that!" Natasha yelled, and Sherlock distinctly heard the safety on her gun click, as the gloves of Tony's suit began to whir.

The Doctor glanced over his shoulder with an overdramatic sigh.

"I saw the kind of energy that this portal gives off, so I went to the museum at the end of the Universe, you know, the one run by the archaeologists of the school of the history of the Headless Monks, where everything turns up eventually, and I borrowed their spear." He shouted back irately, as the portal had begun to crackle and hum, making it difficult to hear, "Why? Have you got some kind of phobia of pointy objects?"

"Doctor don't antagonise them, he might be hurting in there." Rose yelled, completely oblivious to the weapons that were aimed in her direction. It finally hit Sherlock that he was definitely way out of his depth.

"Fine, fine. Let's get this over with." The Doctor could only just be heard over the growing hum and the crackling of the air that was rippling, and darkening, blocking out the light behind it.

Five voices screamed "NO!" as the Doctor plunged the sceptre into the 'horizon', but within a fraction of a second the blackened air surged forward, crackling like electricity, knocking them off their feet.

Then there was silence, and stillness, and the air, and his companions, had frozen. Sherlock lifted his head from the sand and looked for the Doctor, who was the only one on his feet, staring at the young blonde woman. The rippling was gone, as if nothing had happened, and she was kneeling beside a crumpled black mass that hadn't been there before.

As the others staggered to their feet, their gazes piercing the new arrival, Sherlock hated the feeling that he was the only one who had no idea what was going on.

"What's happening?" he demanded, looking first to Tony, then to Bruce, and then finally to Thor when they remained silent, staring icily at the mass. The man, who was soaked to the skin, and clad in black leather, managed to lift his head for just a second before dropping to the ground unconscious. Thor's gaze didn't waver, and when he spoke, it wasn't in answer to Sherlock's question.

"Loki."

* * *

**Ok, firstly: this is about 1,500 words longer than my usual (I just couldn't find a good place to put a pause, so I carried on)**

**Secondly: I hope this isn't too confusing, I'm trying to bring the threads together before I unveil the villains' plot (I also need to think of that)**

**But...thoughts?**


	14. No, no no no no no no no no!

**Disclaimer: still no**

* * *

"Loki."

Thor's voice, strained and confused, and a little angry, was the only sound to be heard apart from the wash of the sea on the shore. As Rose knelt beside the crumpled man, Loki, Thor had said, Sherlock took the moment of silence to observe what was going on around him.

His mind was racing faster than it ever had; not only was everything that had just happened _impossible_, no, _implausible, _but it turned out that it wasn't just a random man to fall from the terrifyingly real rift, but someone that the Avengers knew. They wouldn't be aiming their weapons at the unconscious, and therefore harmless, man if he were a stranger. The Doctor seemed to come to the same conclusion, as he left his friend's side to wander over to Sherlock and stand beside him, away from the others.

"Right, I'm just going to stand right here, next to the only one not wielding a gun of some sort." The Doctor announced, clapping the detective on the back (he jerked forward as the hand made contact; _why did people keep doing that)_, as the eyes of Iron Man, Captain America, the Black Widow, Thor, and a disgruntled Bruce Banner narrowed in his direction, "I take it you've all met then."

"I haven't a clue who this is." Sherlock said quickly, eyeing the young woman's analysis of the man. Obviously Thor knew him, and the clothes he was wearing matched the style of the Asgardian, but further than that he was in the dark.

"This is my brother, Loki." Thor answered sadly, he appeared unsure as to whether he should rush to his brother's side or wait for Rose's permission, "How do _you_ know him? He does not possess many acquaintances that I know of."

"Forget that!" Tony butted in, "That guy tried to take over the Earth, and set an extra-terrestrial army on New York! He's _supposed_ to be in prison right now."

Sherlock's eyes widened; although he had seen the destruction of New York on the news, it had never sunk in that anything that insane had actually occurred. _One man did that?_

"Well…" the Doctor started, but it was Rose that replied, finally leaving Loki's side and pulling herself to her feet, looking between the butts of the weapons that were aimed in her direction.

"I'm sorry," she began, and then seemed to think better of it, biting her lip in thought and taking calming breaths, "I'm his friend, kind of, we had a falling out, he stormed off…but _he did what?"_

Natasha was examining the woman before her, and stepped forward, lowering her gun.

"Your friend turned up here, with an army of aliens, and tried to take over the planet." She informed her, "So you understand why we don't trust you entirely."

"That and the fact that you seem to understand, and control, this energy source that we think may be linked to the abductions of our friends." Bruce added, adjusting his glasses. Sherlock didn't mention it, but he did notice that the scanner in his hand had stopped wailing a while back.

"Now hold on!" the Doctor moved to place himself between Rose and the Avengers, hands raised over his head, his expression fierce.

"We don't know about any abductions," Rose insisted, dodging back in front of the ridiculous man, "I just followed the trail to Loki, that's all." She glanced back over her shoulder at where he still lay forlorn on the sand, soaked to the skin.

"The fact that you know my brother at all is evidence to the contrary." Thor replied guardedly; his hammer was still in his hand and Sherlock couldn't be sure, but he could have sworn it was vibrating. This was getting stupid. Sherlock shoved his way to the head of the group, waving a hand over the intruders.

"If you used your eyes you would see that they're not even a little bit of a threat!" he hissed; they were wasting time bickering like children and every minute gone was a minute that John could be coming to blame _him_ for any pain that his captors put him through.

Only Tony lowered his hands completely; _he was far too trusting_.

"Are you sure?" Tony asked, and he was still watching Loki warily. Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes.

"This woman is clearly unarmed, in fact she's barely dressed for a rainy evening, let alone a fight; sure her shoes are worn, so she does a lot of running, but she otherwise lives a fairly dull life, in a house, with a lot of slobbing about." He reeled off; it was nice to do what he was good at, and he ignored the stormy expression on Rose's face, "She's of no more threat to you than a domesticated tabby cat."

"I'll show you a tabby cat." Rose muttered loud enough for the detective to hear, but he didn't grace her by turning around, even though Tony sniggered and the Doctor's face lit up in a sickeningly sweet show of fondness.

"And this man," Sherlock continued, pointing at the Doctor, who gestured to himself in mock confusion, "I agree, he's a complete lunatic, and we shouldn't trust him as far as we can throw him…but he's not even thinking threatening thoughts."

"Exactly," The Doctor clapped his hands together and strode into the space beside Sherlock, again, "I am a mad man, but as Thor, and now Mr Holmes, have pointed out, I am completely and utterly not dangerous."

"But that doesn't explain what you're doing here." Bruce replied, but he looked more exhausted than angry.

Rose groaned and threw her head back, pacing back to where Loki was laid.

"I told you, I'm just here to get my friend!" she snapped, "Once he's awake, we'll be out of your hair."  
"No, you and your box are coming back to base with us," Natasha instructed, her voice cutting, "We're not letting Loki out of our sight, and there is no way you're leaving until you've told us everything you know about these energy readings."

The Doctor shook his head agitatedly, looking back at Rose for a moment before addressing the group.

"I've told you what the readings are, it's Huon energy, and it comes from around the void and the time vortex." The Doctor was gritting his teeth, and his eyes had darkened; he was a lot angrier than he appeared, "There will be remnants wherever someone uses any form of travelling via vortex or void, a bit like a gust of air when you open a door. Look at your scanners; this one's just a reference now that it's been opened."

Bruce and Tony's head dipped as they looked at the scanners in their hands, and then suddenly broke into a hushed discussion, in the vain hope that the Doctor wouldn't overhear. Natasha was listening, but Steve, who had remained silent and watchful until that moment, something that Sherlock grudgingly had to admit he admired, as John was the same, spoke up.

"We can't let you leave, innocent or not." He explained clearly, walking slowly towards the Doctor, his shield held by his side, "If Thor's telling the truth, and you are some wise, advanced alien, then we need your help, and I'd prefer if you came of your own free will."

"With the way we've been treated?" Rose retorted indignantly from where she was now sitting beside the still unconscious man, stroking his cheeks. The Doctor waved a hand over his shoulder, never taking his eyes off of Steve. There was a huff in reply.

"Well, if you wanted help, all you had to do was ask." The Doctor said quietly, seriously, "But I want to know what I'm walking into before I march into an unfriendly base."

"You'll come whether you like the way they do things or not." It was Sherlock that spoke up this time, and the others ceased their mutterings at the brevity of his deep voice, "Don't look at me like that, I saw the way you've been sneering at our guns."

Rose once again leapt to her feet and rushed to stand firmly beside the Doctor, who was observing the detective with a darkly amused expression, his eyes wandering across his face in a way that made him uncomfortable.

"Hold on! I thought you were on _our _side!" Rose remarked heatedly.

"It doesn't matter who's on what-" Steve started, but the Doctor cut him off, his eyes boring into Sherlock; the tension in the air seemed to reach the same density that it had been when the portal had crackled into life.

"No, that's alright." The Doctor drawled, "Tell me, Mr Holmes…why shouldn't I just get back in my box and fly away? Whose side are you on? Or is this just a vested interest?"

Sherlock stared straight back at the Doctor, refusing to back down or be cowed by the cold fires burning in his eyes. The others were watching with bated breath.

"I am on whichever side gets me to John Watson the quickest." He answered, for once not caring that his emotions were showing; the '_heroes' _were so soppy that they couldn't laugh even if they tried.

The Doctor assumed a knowing look that Sherlock immediately hated. He hated him _so much_.

"Ah…" he breathed, "So Dr Watson has been taken. Now I understand."

Something in his tone made Sherlock uncomfortable (_now that was a new feeling)_ and he was almost relieved when Thor spoke up.

"Dr Watson is not the only one." The god said sadly, and he strode forward and placed a firm hand on Sherlock's shoulder; for once, the detective didn't shake it off.

"We all have vested interests." Bruce added, and he too moved as Tony did, taking up stance on Sherlock's other side just as Steve and Natasha took up their positions in the back.

"Look Doc, if you can help us, we're not just letting you go." Tony stated mournfully, looking to Steve for reassurance as the soldier concluded, "That would be like giving up on them."

Sherlock didn't know how to deal with the unfamiliar show of solidarity, or what to do with the weird warmth that had taken root somewhere in his chest. Yes, it was extremely uncomfortable having so many people gathered so close to him, being so…_fluffy…_but for some reason that he didn't want to explore, he was in no way inclined to extricate himself at that moment. Physiological malfunctions aside, he saw the exact moment that Rose's resolve crumbled, and he cheeks tinged pink, her eyes softening in sympathy. She placed her hands around the Doctor's upper arm in an intimate gesture that he practically melted into.

"We can't just leave Doctor," she begged, pouting her lips in the manner of someone used to getting her own way, "They need us."

The Doctor locked eyes with the woman on his arm and for a second there was a tangible wave of grief pouring from him. The moment passed and he gave a crooked smile.

"Of course we're going to help them." He berated her, as if she were the one that had vastly overstepped the mark. Steve coughed to get the Timelord's attention.

"Thank you." He said, gratefully.

At that moment, a gargled coughing fit cut through the air behind the Doctor and Rose, followed by a low groan that spoke volumes of pain and exhaustion. The Avengers panned out again, arms raised but weapons held only partially aloft. Sherlock stood, like the Doctor, to the side, watching and observing as Rose ran to the crumpled man's side, dropping to her knees.

The man in question had thrown a leather clad arm over his eyes, and let out another groan, his legs shifting as if he were testing the strength of his knees, and his left arm reaching to grasp at his ribs. Rose's hands were hovering over his form; at one instant she brushed his sodden black hair from his forehead, but pulled away when his head thrashed from her grasp.

"Loki…Loki you bloody idiot, what have you done?" she muttered. The moment that the words left her lips Loki froze, his tentative movements halting. The arm thrown across his eyes pulled slowly downwards, revealing wide, incredulous eyes the colour of emeralds. Loki managed to raise himself onto his elbows, his eyes never leaving Rose's face; he was either in shock, or particularly struck by his predicament.

"Rose?...What?...I don't…what?" his voice was ragged, but retained its poise and candour, regardless of the graceless confusion on the owner's face. Rose grinned, a proper, shining grin that lit up her face and made her brown eyes glitter. Sherlock saw the Doctor stiffen.

"I came after you, you _fucking_ idiot…" she almost sobbed, placing her hand tenderly on his cheek before retracting it and slapping the same cheek, "Do you have any idea how worried…how _furious_, I was. You took the bloody cannon!"

Loki's mouth opened and shut a few times; still speechless, he lifted a hand to where his cheek was now smarting, but not in a way that suggested it was a new occurrence. His eyes darted about the beach before falling on the woman leaning over him. He was gasping for breath, obviously in pain and tired, but he was grasping at words.

"What…What did you do?" he finally asked desperately, searching Rose's face. It wasn't Rose that answered.

"It is not what _she _has done that ought to worry you, Brother." Thor interrupted the tender moment, and his shadow fell over the pair.

Loki turned his head slowly towards his brother, wincing, as if in hope that he was imagining it. As his eyes fell upon Thor, they then scanned over the Avengers, who were watching him suspiciously.

A moment of tense silence passed, and then…

Loki groaned at the top of his voice, throwing himself back into the sand where he had only recently lain, slinging his arm back over his eyes as if to block out the world.

"No, no no no no no no no…no no no no no" he muttered, his voice vacillating between loud and almost silent as he repeated the same word over and over, "no no no no noooo…THAT'S NOT FAIR!"  
Rose sat back on her heels, and Sherlock was starkly reminded of the way that John would stand back and sigh, often just before the words 'not good' were exchanged. He had no idea what was happening; the others seemed just as confused, all except for Thor, who was smirking fondly at the man who was still expelling a litany of 'no's.

It was Steve that finally made the first move.

"Right…back to the helicarrier then?" he suggested, but he looked unsure as to how that was going to work.

"Sure, why not?" Tony replied, then looked to the Doctor, "What about your box?"

The Doctor put on an expression of mock surprise.

"Oh, why yes, of course we'll come to this…helicarrier? Last time I was on one of those…" he mused, then shook his head as if to resort his thoughts, "I can summon her there once we're on board…or at least I think I can. I'll leave her here until then."

"What about him?" Sherlock gestured half-heartedly towards where Loki was still muttering unendingly under his breath, (_no, no no no no no no no), _Rose was knelt beside him, trying to calm him as Thor crouched over the two, trying to take Loki's arm as it was yanked persistently from his grasp as he boomed '_Brother…brother, please. Brother this is helping nothing!'._

The Doctor whipped the metal device from his coat without a word and aimed it at the group. A reedy whistle later, and Loki's eyes rolled into the back of his head as he passed out, again. Thor checked his pulse, and when satisfied that he was fine, hoisted Loki over his shoulder.

"Right then…" The Doctor announced, now buzzing with excitement, "to the Helicarrier!"

* * *

**There you go. I confused myself writing this. **

**LOKI'S HERE! HOORAY! **

**Hopefully everything will straighten out soon, and things will move from the build-up to some kind of exitement.**


	15. A Step in the Right Direction

**Diclaimer: If only...**

* * *

The moment that they had arrived on the Helicarrier, they were met by Fury, who had raced across the tarmac to inform them that Jack had sent word of a new discovery. Rose and the Doctor had shared a covert glance and grinned sickeningly at each other, asking if it was '_Jack Harkness?'_ then dissolving into cheerful whispers. Rose had spared a sad, backwards glance for the man sprawled over Thor's shoulder, but had allowed the Doctor to drag her by the wrist towards the meeting room (the two of them had talked very quickly when confronted with Fury, and flashed him a card that Sherlock was 100% sure was blank, although nobody else mentioned it).

That had been followed by the admittedly enjoyable moment, when Fury's eye had fallen upon Loki, his mouth had flapped monotonously up and down, and the Avengers had all averted their gaze, sheepishly scanning the ground before the shouting started. Sherlock had never heard so many expletives in such a short amount of time, and he'd once spent the evening in a pub with five of John's beer soaked army buddies.

Tony had briefly asked about a 'fishbowl', to which Bruce had pointed out that not only had it been useless before, but it was also in pieces somewhere on the American coast. Sherlock had no idea what they were talking about, but it became immediately apparent that there was nowhere they could keep Loki at that time. Eventually everyone had agreed to cuff him and hope for the best.

Which was how Sherlock found himself sitting once again around the large round table, between Tony and Bruce, with the rest of the Avengers, Fury, the Doctor and Rose, and the still unconscious Loki, who had been left to flop forward in his chair, hands bound before him as the blonde woman shot him anxious glares every other second. Another woman that Tony had leaned and whispered in Sherlock's ear was Agent Hill, was hovering in the background, a bored and put-upon expression on her face.

"Right," Fury barked, standing rigidly, his hand planted firmly on the table as he scanned the faces of everyone gathered there, "I want you to tell me _exactly _what happened! I sent you to investigate a disturbance and you return with two tag-alongs, I've just been told a box has materialised on my deck, and to top it off you've acquired a limp super-villain!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but he didn't say anything; he needed to understand just as much as everyone else, for John's sake. If John hadn't been in danger, he thought, he might have actually enjoyed the confusing turn things had taken.

"Sir, you said Harkness had news." Natasha inquired dully; it was clear from the stiffness in her jaw and the way she clenched her hand together on the table that she didn't want to try and explain any more than the rest of them. Fury fixed her with an irritable glare.

"I'll get to that once I've had some answers." He growled. Thor, Tony, Bruce, and Steve's eyes all met, joining in a silent discussion over what the hell they were meant to say. The Doctor was reclining in his chair, watching everything happen with bemusement as Rose waited patiently for someone else to take the lead. With a sigh, Steve started talking.

"The people responsible for taking our friends weren't at the beach, but The Doctor and Rose," he gestured politely toward the new faces, "Were there, as was the energy- a kind of portal- which Loki came out of. They seem to know what it is, and insist that Loki was just there by accident."

"I have a hard time believing that Loki could be anywhere by accident." Fury retorted, earning a swift glare from Rose.

"I don't know what he's done since I last saw him," she gritted out, her eyes blazing, "But I do know that he was stuck in the void, just before his destination- that's _why_ we came to find him."

Fury was about to snap back, but Thor cut across him, rubbing a hand wearily over his forehead.

"We cannot know what my brother wants until he awakens." Thor said firmly, "But when we returned to Asgard, petulant as he was, he was insistent that his mind had been under the control of another. We cannot learn more until he is able to speak, but I do not believe he has any reason to come back to Midgard, and he showed no signs of wanting revenge, only silence."

"So we can get back to finding our kidnappers." Sherlock said tensely, raising his voice so that everyone could hear him; the oaf's brother was irrelevant. There was a round of swift nods, and Sherlock took a moment to appreciate that Tony was clearly far more emotional than he liked to advertise, as for some indecipherable reason, he gave the detective's shoulder a squeeze that he supposed might have been an attempt at comfort. Bruce raised his hand slightly, before dropping it and speaking anyway.

"I thought I had the science down," he began, and then shook his head and started again, "The Doctor seems to know more than I do."

Fury turned to the Doctor and raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to speak. The Doctor smirked playfully, his smile dropping when Rose's elbow connected with his abdomen.

"Your science was almost perfect Dr Banner," the Doctor praised Bruce, who nodded his head gratefully; there was a moment of silence as Loki groaned, but didn't wake, and the Doctor continued, "But not quite. Like I said before, the energy you picked up is a variant of Huon energy, and appears around places where time travel or teleportation has taken place." The whole while he was gesturing with his hands, and fiddling with his bow tie, "The fact that it's all over the place in such little quantities, as Mr Stark was kind enough to show me on the jet, suggests that someone has been teleporting on Earth recently."

"Are you sure that's not just _your _box leaving traces?" Natasha asked, as Tony chorused, 'exactly'. The Doctor shook his head, rolling his eyes dramatically, glancing at Rose; Sherlock felt a pang of irritation that the man was daring to flirt in the midst of something so important.

"No, no…the TARDIS keeps it all inside, reuses it like the most renewable, sustainable vehicle the universe has to offer." He explained, "This is messy, shoddy teleportation at most."

"And yet it is teleportation." Thor insisted, "We possess that ability on Asgard, but we have not mastered Huon travel; only the Timelords have achieved that."

The Doctor nodded thoughtfully, rubbing his chin with his fingers. He had actually taken to his feet as he was talking, and was now pacing behind Tony, Steve, and Natasha.

"True…your Bifrost works on the whole magic and fast moving cosmic metal tearing holes in the fabric of space…" he mused, "You know…I once came across some spacey sharks that did that…they flew round and round the planet until they punched a hole in the universe and opened a gateway to Earth…that was a fun day…"

"Doctor!" Rose snapped fondly, leaning back in her seat to grasp at his sleeve. He shook his head as if to clear it and apologised with a small smile.

"If someone was able to master this…Huon, Timelord energy," Sherlock interrupted just as the Doctor was about to continue on his litany; the man could drone on and on, but the detective's mind was always reaching just that step ahead, "Is it sensible to assume that they could also master the ability to raise the dead?" It was ridiculous that he was even considering this, but he couldn't deny the evidence of his own eyes. The Doctor's face suddenly became serious, and he looked pointedly at Rose as he replied.

"Yes, yes it could."

Rose's eyes widened, and in that moment Sherlock would have given anything to have been able to pry open her mind.

"Yeah, but…" she stuttered, gazing beseechingly up at the Doctor, "I had to look into the heart of the TARDIS…and I nearly died…"

"You're human," The Doctor replied sharply, "Chances are whoever's raising the dead isn't human."

Sherlock was glad that he wasn't the only one watching the exchange with confusion. The only person who wasn't was Thor, who was wearing a curious expression.

"I was always told that the Timelords were no more." He stated, and the Doctor and Rose looked up, as if shocked that there were still other people in the room. The Doctor shook his head again, the agitation clear on his face as he tugged at the lapels of his jacket.

"It might not be a Timelord…" the Doctor suggested, but Fury had obviously had enough.

"But it very well _could_ be?" Fury demanded, thumping his fist against the table in a fit of anger. The Doctor merely nodded slowly, leading Fury to continue, "Another alien targeting Earth with malicious intent?"

Sherlock leant forward onto his elbows, clasping his hands together in prayer position and resting his chin on the tips of his fingers. This was what he needed; Data! Data with which to theorise.

"Say for a minute that I accept that an alien with immense power has plans on Earth," Sherlock proposed, waiting for absolute silence and the attention of all eyes before he continued, "Why would the first thing they do be to resurrect James Moriarty? That suggests at least knowledge of Earth and its popular culture."

"I read that this guy was a criminal mastermind; that makes him a useful asset if nothing else." Natasha offered, mirroring the detective's pose; she was getting down to business. Sherlock had seen in their time together that the woman was under the same strain that he was; she missed her partner.

"Well rest assured that Moriarty isn't the sort of man to allow himself to become an asset." Sherlock said ominously; if this 'alien' had revived Moriarty with the intention of using his brains, then he was in for a world of trouble. There was a small eruption of chatter, cut off only seconds later when Rose called out.

"So let me get this straight!" she said quickly, her eyebrows pinching in thought, a predicament not amended by the hand that the Doctor laid on her shoulder, "There is a Timelord doing…something…and we don't know what." The group nodded, and Sherlock caught a slight snuffling from the still unconscious figure sprawled beside Rose, as if he had responded to her voice (nobody else seemed to notice). Rose turned in her seat to look directly into the Doctor's eyes, "A Timelord Doctor…how is that even possible?"

The Doctor shrugged flippantly, but his head was down.

"It's been done before," he muttered, "But it can't be…"

Rose didn't give up though, catching his hand and dragging him closer.

"I know that it's not good, obviously, but…a Timelord!" she insisted, attempting a smile, her eyes confident and pleading, "That's a little good, you're not alone."

"Rose-" The Doctor was cut off by a deep groan, and the slumped figure shifted. The Avengers noticeably tensed, and Rose turned hastily, placing a hand on the leather clad shoulder that was rising and falling as the man tried to rise without lifting his head.

"Loki…Loki sweetheart, it's okay, I'm here." Rose whispered in his ear, brushing the black hair from his pale cheek. Loki's eyes were squeezed tightly closed, his face pressed against his sleeve as he fidgeted, not quite awake yet.

Sherlock watched with curiosity, trying to deduce why the others were exchanging disgusted looks, why Tony was leaning into Steve, or why Thor was leaning tentatively, imperceptibly forward, as if he didn't realise he was doing it, too distracted by the disapproving worry that was etched across his features.

Just as on the beach, Loki blinked hard, his eyes softening and flickering as he got his bearings; as if without thinking, he leant into the warmth of Rose's hand on his shoulder, his head that he still hadn't lifted tipping into the touch.

"Rose…" he muttered; it was sad and accepting at the same time, as if the man had given up fighting. As he finally raised his head from the table, he seemed to realise that his hands were bound, peering confusedly at his wrists, but the chain was long, and he could move relatively well. Sherlock observed that although smaller and thinner than Thor, Loki was still taller than himself, and must have been muscular under the layers of leather if his (objectively handsome) face was anything to go by.

The moment that the green eyes focused properly, taking in the room and realising that he and Rose were not alone, Loki's face froze, the emotion and colour draining in less than a second. His posture went rigid, and then his eyes snapped shut on a roll, and he exhaled exhaustedly, sagging back into his seat in an arrogant yet graceful pose, swinging one leg over the other. _Well, _Sherlock thought, _at least he's not throwing another tantrum._

"And for a moment there I thought it had been merely a particularly gruesome dream." Loki drawled, reopening his eyes and scanning each person at a time; Sherlock got the strangest feeling that this was how people felt when _he_ observed _them_, "I should have known I'd never be that lucky."

The Avengers were all wearing mirroring expressions of displeasure that reminded the detective of Anderson; which was a shame, because he had really begun to like some of them. Only Fury was able to speak without hurling insults at the God of Mischief.

"Oh believe me, you have no idea how lucky you are." He hissed, glaring down at Loki, who simply looked back, a bored glint in his eyes, "If it wasn't for your _friend_ here," Fury pointed a shaking hand at Rose, "You'd be living the many imaginations of our interrogation team right now."

"Charming…" Loki muttered, raising a hand to inspect his nails, which were as pale and ragged as the rest of him. _Oh, he was definitely royalty,_ Sherlock deduced, _the stature, the insolence, the dulcet well annunciated tones, this was a man trained in the ways of a prince._ Not that the Avengers seemed to care, as their glaring persisted. Nor did Rose; her face stricken, she shoved his shoulder in an attempt to get his attention.

"Loki, Loki talk to me." She ordered him; upset she may have been, but it was clear that anger came far more naturally. Loki kept his eyes ahead, his head held high and his jaw clenched; his eyes were hard and he looked for all the world to be inspecting the group, unconcerned by the tangible hatred that rolled off of them. It was only Thor whose gaze he avoided.

"I will not talk to you surrounded by these oafs." He said firmly, begging no argument. Rose didn't back down.

"Loki, you better start explaining now, or I'll-"

"Alone or not at all!" Loki snapped, sparing but a moment to glare sharply at the woman, who folded her arms petulantly and slouched in her chair. This was something that happened a lot then.

Another awkward and tense silence stretched out between them, and then Thor spoke, his hand aloft as he visibly attempted to formulate the correct sentence.

"Brother…" he started, and receiving a cold glare in return, he ploughed on, clearly encouraged by the fact that any contact had been made, "Brother I escorted you to Asgard myself. I am unsure as to how you came to be here, or why you would wish to be on Midgard again."

"Well he's not here for Thanksgiving." Tony sniped irritably. Loki's mask slipped for a moment, as his forehead crinkled and he looked to Rose with a confused expression, as if waiting for her to provide an explanation; it was so natural that Sherlock knew that there was far more between them than friendship. It reminded him of the way he would look to John when something stupid and irrelevant was mentioned, like a television catchphrase. The moment passed quickly, the mask returning as Loki snapped his head back around, tearing his eyes from Rose when he realised what he had done. Sherlock wasn't the only one to notice, as Thor, in a fit of observation that Sherlock hadn't expected from him, looked bemusedly between the two; it must have been sibling intuition. Rose however had missed the exchange, as she had been glaring at the floor. Loki sighed and rolled his shoulders back, fixing Thor with a tired stare.

"I used the same cannon that propelled me into the hands of the Chituari." He explained bitterly, "You really didn't check me over properly before you threw me in jail. And it's not so much that I want anything with Midgard, I just don't to rot in an Asgardian prison; there are some grotesque figures in there."

"That cannon's not done yet." Rose muttered despairingly, running a hand through her hair. Thor shook his head, cutting off any input that Bruce or Steve had been trying to make.

"You only needed to remain in the prison until Father returned from Nilfheim!" he stressed, "Once he had returned he would never have allowed the stricter punishments to be used against you."

"I have no wish to see your Father!" Loki retorted fiercely, stiffening more than he had before, a feat that was near impossible, "Nor discover how far his sympathies extend."

"ENOUGH!" Fury barked, "We don't have time for this." His eyes bored in Loki, his spare hand held in Thor's direction to shut him up, "Are you telling me you really have no idea what's going on here?"

Loki nodded slowly, and then iterated in a tone meant for a young child.

"I left Asgard, and then I awoke very cold, very wet, surrounded by sand and your…team." He glanced around the table again, "I know nothing." Loki then adopted a dashing smirk and his eyes brightened playfully "You're all looking well by the way; I hope you're in good health."

"You won't be looking so well if you don't cooperate." Natasha warned, and she pressed her hands together, making her knuckles click eerily.

"Hmm…" Loki hummed under his breath and continued to observe thoughtfully, until his eyes landed on Sherlock, "You're new."

Sherlock opened his mouth to reply, but Tony beat him to it.

"Don't start acting like you _know _us!" he snapped. Loki smirked and his eyes shone.

"Oh, on the contrary Tony, I recognised you the moment I laid eyes on you." He drawled, and then turned back to Sherlock, his eyes tracking up and down as Sherlock's had done to him, "You're obviously not an 'Avenger'; they've all got this certain…air…about them."

"Obviously." Sherlock replied, the familiar rush of adrenaline that spread whenever a particularly thrilling or challenging case strayed across his path. Loki's face brightened.

"And you speak properly; Marvellous!" he declared, "You don't look like a hero; I assume you're here for your brains rather than your brawn?"

Sherlock tried not to notice the voice in the back of his head that whispered the very words that he had said to John when they had first met, and focused instead on the fascinating man before him. He was only peripherally aware of the others watching him as they would a particularly volatile magic show.

"More or less." The detective answered, and gave Loki one last observation, "Tell me, how a Prince like yourself, with the upbringing you have clearly had, and your personality type, found himself trying to enslave New York?"

Loki's expression shifted, but he schooled it quickly.

"You can see that I'm a Prince? And no one told you?"

Sherlock shook his head, "But of course. You're deflecting the question."

"He's right," Rose noted, finally taking a breath and resurfacing from her miserable silence, "It doesn't fit _you_ at all."

Loki didn't look at Rose, but dropped his eyes before glancing at Sherlock again.

"I will concede that you are a genius…"

"Sherlock." The detective finished, and Loki nodded once in acknowledgement. The sound of footsteps, slow and pacing were enough to remind Sherlock that he had forgotten one other person whilst keeping an eye on the Avengers.

"Yes, I'm sure the two of you would get on quite nicely." The Doctor said coldly, an uncomfortable smile tugging at his lips, as he met Loki's gaze (Loki too appeared not to have noticed him, as he turned quickly, eyeing the hand that fell on Rose's shoulder) "I'm the Doctor by the way; I'll assume you've heard of me, although I probably look a little different than you're familiar with."

Loki nodded slowly.

"I know who you are," he replied coolly, "and I know how you abandoned Ms Tyler."

The Doctor started to say something, but Thor stopped him by the nature of dropping his hammer, the thud resounding off the walls. His face was confused and weary, and he had been watching the exchange between Sherlock and Loki, and now Loki and the Doctor as one would watch an old friend that wasn't quite how one remembered them. Steve took that moment to butt in.

"This isn't getting us anywhere," he said guardedly, his head turning between each person as if they would cut him off, "What we need to focus on now is finding out who took our friends, and why." Finally content that he was being listened to, Steve continued, "We know it's probably a Timelord, and they've got a criminal mastermind, and they're probably near one of these energy fluctuations."

Bruce nodded, shifting in his seat. The tension in the room had gotten to everyone, and the Loki's presence wasn't helping.

"Yeah…" Bruce agreed, and then glanced at Loki, "Are you sure we're okay having him hear this?" he asked Fury. Loki rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders, and even raised his hands to place them over his own ears before dropping them and glaring sarcastically.

"What do you think I'm going to do?" he inquired.

"I want him where I can see him, so he'll hear whatever I want him to hear." Fury huffed, before continuing, "We sent Harkness to investigate these energy hotspots."

At this Agent Hill strode forward, becoming active for the first time since she'd entered the room (with the exception of huffs and eye rolls). Sherlock tensed; possible news on John.

"Harkness checked out most of the locations and came up with nothing." Hill explained, "But he sent word a few hours ago from the one in the Arctic Circle."

"He found them?" Natasha, Bruce, and Thor asked at the same time. Hill shook her head, her shoulders clenching.

"Maybe…he came across an abandoned SHIELD base." Hill said disparagingly (Sherlock was reminded of Lestrade's exasperation- _God, _he thought, _if I start growing fond of these people, I will lose the will to live), "_The power's on, and there are people going in and out. You'd think we'd have blown that base off the map, but no…" A sharp glance from Fury got Hill back on track, "Harkness is keeping watch, but he's not going in until he's got back-up; my decision, not his."

Sherlock sat up straighter in his chair; _John._

"Why are we still here then?" he demanded, "Back the more useful of us," he gestured towards the Doctor, Rose, and Loki, "onto a jet and get us to that base!"

Fury scoffed and stepped away from the table.

"Not a chance." He replied firmly, "This is a major threat; we are _all_ going, and we're taking the Helicarrier."

* * *

**Another really long one. Tried so hard to keep it in character and not forget people were in the room. **

**It occured to me today that the narrative might seem a little skewed, as it's all from Sherlock's perspective (still have no idea how that happened), but hopefully you're not finding it too tedious.**


	16. Infiltration and Infatuation

**Disclaimer: not mine**

* * *

It had been decided, regardless of Fury's orders, that the Avengers (Tony, Bruce, Thor, Steve, and Natasha) would be going down to the base. The Doctor had said quietly but firmly that he would be joining them, and this was quickly accepted as he knew more about what was going on than anyone else. Sherlock had straightened his coat and made to follow the group, and been told in no uncertain terms that he was _not_ going with them.

"Mr Holmes, you're a civilian." Fury had said wearily, as if talking to a child, "You are in no way equipped to face whatever may be down there."

Sherlock puffed out his chest and stood as tall as he could, bearing down upon the director with cold eyes.

"I refuse to whittle away my time aboard this craft when I could be better served searching for John." The detective hissed, ignoring the way that the others were watching him, and the encouraging nod that the Doctor had aimed in his direction (as if he were a _puppy_ being praised for rolling over properly), "I am going to John, whether you allow me to accompany these people, or I take my own jet when you're not looking."

Fury looked ready to respond, rolling his one good eye, but Tony stepped forward, holding a titanium gloved hand between them.

"Let him come with us." He implored, earning a withering stare from Fury, "While Steve, Thor, Banner, and I go with the Doctor and Harkness to find whoever's running this show; Sherlock can go with Romanoff to find the prisoners."

"Natasha might need help if there are any injured." Steve added, and Sherlock fought off the chill the leeched down his spine at the very idea. He would accompany Natasha without argument; the first person he wanted to see was John, and the last thing he ever wanted to confront was Moriarty.

Fury finally acquiesced after another minute wasted, and the group began to file past him into the corridor, when they were stopped again.

"What about us?" Rose Tyler demanded, gesturing between Loki (who had been watching the proceedings with barely restrained bemusement) and herself, "You can't expect me to sit here and wait for you to come back."

It was Natasha that answered, directing a poisonous glare at Loki, but attempting to smile reassuringly at Rose. The result was a strange and not so comforting expression.

"Stark and Rogers have small cameras in the front of their suits, as will your Doctor once he stands still. You watch what happens from here, and act accordingly if things go wrong." She explained, and then gestured towards Loki's slumped figure, "It'll give the two of you time to catch up."

Rose huffed, but allowed them to leave.

Outside on the landing strip, Sherlock took a moment to wish that he was wearing something a bit warmer than his usual Belstaff coat. The sky was pitch black save for the lights that undulated in the sky, glittering off the snow covered landscape below. He had been informed that the Helicarrier was cloaked, but he didn't believe it. The Arctic wind whipped against the aircraft that were strapped to the floor, whistling through the joints. It was the perfect match was the trepidation that Sherlock felt. Beneath them, partially hidden in the ice, was a labyrinth like concrete complex; inside that...John.

Sherlock didn't even want to think about what they might have done to him, he didn't want to face Moriarty again, and he didn't want to know what he was planning; but his mind, as always raced ahead and selected the choicest images to present to his eyes.

A hand curled around his shoulder, and Sherlock's head jerked around to meet Thor's gaze. He didn't say anything (_Small mercies), _but tilted his head in the direction of the jet, where the others were already gathered. The two of them strode in silence to the jet, where Sherlock wedged himself beside Tony, who shot him a wan smile.

Nobody spoke as the jet took off; even the Doctor was staring darkly into the middle distance.

*********8

The temperature was at least twenty degrees lower on the ground. Two entrances had been identified on the schematics that had been retrieved from the SHIELD databases, and once the team had arrived on the ground they had been met by a blue lips Jack Harkness.

As Steve recounted the plan for his team (it was _simple_, and this was _pointless_), Sherlock watched the Doctor approach Jack. The ridiculously dressed man had looked at the hand and flirtatious hand offered him and laughed, and after a moment's confusion, Jack's face had lit up and a grin stretched his frozen lips.

"How are you making your faces get _younger_?" Jack demanded, pulling the Doctor into what promised to be a rib-crushing hug. The Doctor pushed away and returned a cheeky wink.

"Well…I can't have you outdoing me can I?" he remarked, rubbing his hands together and attempting to blow some heat onto them as he did so. Jack smirked and shook his head, before his expression dropped and became more solemn.

"What happened this time?" he inquired. The Doctor glanced towards the group, and Sherlock made no effort to hide the fact that he was watching. To his annoyance, the Doctor shifted closer to Jack so that he could mutter in his ear. _Useless._

Steve had finished his pep-talk just as Sherlock turned to face him.

"Has everybody got that?" Steve asked, his eyes hovering on Sherlock and the Doctor, who he must have known hadn't been listening.

"Got it down to a tee." The Doctor answered cheerfully, his tone making Sherlock want to punch him; there weren't many people that made him want to resort to physical violence, (Anderson being one- and the Doctor was obviously no idiot), but there was something about the Doctor that rubbed the detective up the wrong way.

"I had it after the first time you explained it." Sherlock replied caustically.

"It's nice to know we're all on the same page then, isn't it." Tony added unhelpfully; contrary to his otherwise independent personality, Sherlock had noticed that Tony, more than any of the other Americans, seemed especially eager to have everyone get along. If it weren't for the biting wind blasting his face, he might even have attempted a fake smile of reassurance, just as a sign that he was grateful if nothing else.

Bruce, who had gone along with the group in subdued silence, nodding at the correct moments, gestured for Jack to move further into the huddle.

"You're sure that we'll get in okay?" Bruce asked tensely, "Because I don't want to risk the Other Guy walking around on his own for too long."

Jack nodded assuredly, and fixed a confident grin before visibly deciding that it wasn't worth it, and frowning.

"From what I've seen, there aren't that many people here, but those that are, are very well trained and loyal." He reported, his eyes flickering towards the base that was partially hidden by snow only twenty feet away, "There'll be guys at the hub of operation with whoever's in charge, and maybe stationed outside the storeroom where the prisoners most likely are, but the halls should be clear."

Sherlock could already see about thirty holes in the plan; this didn't quite make sense, and he couldn't help the feeling that something was going to go wrong. He was saved having to word these fears as Thor (Who was shockingly still only wearing his thin metal armour, practically impervious to the cold as he was) shook his head agitatedly.

"This feels like a trap." Thor said lowly, looking to his allies for confirmation that he should continue; they didn't look surprised, but Steve nodded for him to go on, "We know that these people mean to lure us in, and small as their forced may be, we cannot ignore that we are performing precisely how they planned."

"Are you having second thoughts?" the Doctor inquired dryly; Sherlock wanted to strangle him. He was eyeing up each of them, and this whole time he had been behaving as if the entire mission was just a game. Sherlock had to admit though, he now understood, just fractionally, why some people became angry with _him_.

"Not for a second." The detective replied sharply; if he hadn't already been gritting his teeth against the cold, his face would have been contorted in displeasure. A titanium clad hand clapped him on the back, and Sherlock was to his regret the first one to look away as Steve began speaking again. Squabbling could wait so long as John was in danger.

"Natasha, Sherlock, you two enter through the eastern door; that's as close to the storerooms as you can get. SHIELD used to keep weapons there, so it's on the bottom floor." Steve reiterated, and Sherlock nodded along with Natasha, eager to get a move on, "You radio us when you find anything. The rest of us will enter through the northern door and try to reach the old meeting room; Bruce," the soldier nodded to Bruce who gave a wan smile, "said that the pictures he got from the Helicarrier showed the most activity there, so I'm hoping we can corner the boss."

"Or shoot 'em if they're not up for talking." Tony's voice had taken on a steely determination, and Thor met this with a grin,

"If you can fire your energy weapons before I can release Mjolnir." He challenged.

Jack chimed in with a 'whoa big guy', but the Doctor cut everyone off with a stern, dark face and a clearing of the throat.

"There won't be any unnecessary death on my watch." He said, and for once none of the Avengers had a reply; even Sherlock found that there was something in the Timelord's expression that shouldn't be crossed. Not at that moment anyway. Another gust of wind and Sherlock ducked his head down, catching sight of his watch.

"We're wasting time, we need to go now." He insisted; none of these people took his word as law the way that people back home tended to do on instinct. It was maddening. Steve however hummed in agreement.

"Sherlock's right, we need to go. Are you ready?" He looked to each of his team, and then the Doctor, all of who nodded quickly, "Then split up, let's move."

************************************88

Loki watched detachedly as the images on the screens before him changed from the icy, barren landscape and the chests of the 'Avengers', to a scenic view of a concrete building which grew as the wearers drew nearer to it.

Once 'Earth's Mightiest Heroes' and their newly acquired company had vacated the room, there had only been moments of uncomfortable silence with Rose before two SHEILD agents had grabbed him under the arms and dragged him bodily to a separate room, in which Rose also joined him, and where they could both observe the mission from afar.

It seemed a strange punishment, even when looked at against the punishments that Odin would bestow upon his children when they were young and far less cautious about getting caught, but apparently Fury had 'grown sick of Loki's _god-awful_ face' and if he didn't go somewhere else he'd '_have to find himself a new set of ribs once I'm through with his'_.

Loki had merely smiled graciously as he passed Fury; _as if his mortal form could so much as dent me, defeated and tired I may be, but I am still a god._ He wasn't sure what the humans were going to do with him; to be fair, they didn't seem to know either. Rose had been assumed his caretaker, but should she see something on the screens that gave her cause to join the fray, Loki was unsure of what part anyone expected him to play.

"Are we not talking then?" Rose's voice was cold and sharp, but Loki could tell from the way it wavered that it was upset, not anger that made it so. He had been fighting the temptation to look at her, but had been failing terribly, small sideways glances providing the same half blurred images that made up all that he could truly remember of her from 'before'.

Before the Chituari, before the Other; they had shown him so many horrors, the worst truths of the heart of the universe, and then pushed him along as a half-formed puppet, playing on his already seeded envies and pains to achieve their own ends. His mind had been so twisted, so clouded, so torn and remade that although he remembered the events, the emotions, the frantic-peace juxtaposition that life with Rose had been, his memories had barely retained her image; it was like the pages of a book that he had once read, but now the paper was drowned and the words run in inky streams into one another. He knew it had happened, he knew he had felt that, but all that was left were faded residues of her face and rough outlines of memories. He couldn't even remember why he had stolen the canon and flung himself into that fateful pit; he just remembered the dejection, the fury, and the piercing pain and irrationality, probably enhanced tenfold, as he stormed from her life. He had expected never to see her again, as he would never see Thor again, but here she was.

Loki raised his head and took in the face of his beautiful, radiant friend; she wasn't traditionally lovely, not by Asgard's standards, but there had been something about her speech, her manner, her warm heart, that had made her so very beautiful. The painful longing returned as her warm brown eyes met his; he had a feeling that that feeling must have contributed to his leaving.

"What is it that you wanted to talk about?" he drawled pleasantly; his eye caught on the screen to his right, which was now showing a grey stone corridor, empty save for the shadows of the Avengers. Rose appeared not to have seen, her expression shifting to indignation.

"Don't give me that crap," she replied her eyes burning as she stared him down; he would not look away, he was not a weakling, despite his many, _many_, failures, "You know exactly what I want. Why would you leave me like that? I mean, I know we had a fight, but what you did was downright dangerous- I know it was, I talked to your brother!"

Loki tried his hardest not to bristle at the mention of his brother; so Thor had been telling tales, that was just _wonderful_. He hooked his still shackled hands together over his knees.

"If you have spoken to Thor then you know of the horrors that I endured." Loki remarked bitterly, and he saw the way that Rose flinched at the mention of horrors, feeling a mixture of pity and victory, "I would be willing to tell you my reasoning…if my mind had not been toyed with as it was."

Rose seemed unsure, and she was definitely thinking something over; she had always been easy to read, but the content of her musings had been more elusive.

"So you don't remember what we fought about?" she asked curiously; as Loki shook his head she slipped from the chair that she had taken on the opposite side of the room and walked slowly, carefully towards him, coming to a stop beside the nearest desk, just a foot away from him.

"It might help refresh my memory if you would tell me the subject matter of our quarrel." Loki suggested, and smirked as Rose flicked her foot in his direction, only narrowly missing his shin in the way that he thought she had in the past. After a moment's thought she answered,

"No…it wasn't important."

Loki's forehead pinched and he tilted his head to look at her more directly.

"Surely it must have-"

"Can you still remember us?" Rose suddenly asked, her eyes boring desperately into his. Loki remembered that she had told him stories about searching all across the universe to find a man that she had loved, only to end up with merely a friend. This all seemed far to similar, and though the specifics escaped him, he wasn't proud of himself for making that emotion present itself in her features.

"I cannot remember many details…although there are a few events that linger; I think that I can imagine a grand white room with fluttering dresses and a scowling father or two…" he spoke slowly, rolling the words over his tongue, watching for confirmation that what he was saying was true.

Rose's lips twitched and again her foot came out, accompanied by a hand that swept over his shoulder, berating him.

"That was my dad and my _mum_!" she exclaimed, biting back a laugh. Loki grinned, and then his expression turned more serious.

"I can remember the feelings, however mottled and worn they may be." He said quietly, turning his eyes away from the woman before him. He heard her sigh lightly, a confused sound, not an angry exhale.

Loki became aware that Rose had moved, the rustle of her cheap jacket against her shirt, and the shadow that fell across his legs giving her away. Before he was truly aware, she had ducked down and placed a light kiss on his lips. She pulled away quickly, gently, but Loki watched her retreat without reacting, watching her warily, curiously.

"You remember that?" Rose asked quietly, her eyes now tracing the floor.

"As do you it seems." He replied, just as lowly. Rose's expression brightened, and her smile grew almost imperceptibly. She wanted more but Loki was not as quick to return to 'normal', whatever that was anymore. Instead he gestured to the screens that still showed plain white corridors, although Captain America could be seen in this shot.

"I think you should refocus your attention upon your new…'friends'."

******8

Sherlock was too fraught with contained tension to be bored by the whitewashed concrete corridors, or the silence with which Natasha led him through them. The only thought thrumming through his mind was John; he was coming for him…somewhere in here.

The others had yet to find anything; they would have radioed if they had. The thing that set Sherlock's teeth on edge the most was the fact that he hadn't seen a single guard, or armed lackey at all. Jack had been right when he'd said they would find their way around easily, but this was just…wrong.

It was obviously a trap; but they would be expecting them to hunt down the ringleaders and demand their loved ones back (the others would do that so as to throw off any suspicion- it would fail but it was worth a try). It should have been harder to reach the prisoners, and Sherlock hated every second that he didn't hear a distant gunshot. _Too easy, far too easy._

Natasha came to a stop outside a matt grey door, the third one along this corridor. They had already gone down two sets of stairs, and this was the last floor. Natasha took a moment to point her gun down each end of the corridor before turning back.

"This one should be the store room; the room's lowered once you get in there." She whispered, although there was really no need, "Can you get it open without any noise."

Sherlock barely glanced at the lock; it was insultingly simple.

"Of course I can." I retorted, and knelt down beside the door, pulling out his lock-picking kit. There next three minutes were tenser than the journey down there; on his feet he was a challenge, kneeling on the ground, a veritable target.

Sherlock let out a sigh of relief as the tell-tale click alerted him to the newly open status of the door. He rose, but paused just as his hand tightened around the handle. What if he didn't like the state that John was in? What if John wasn't there at all?

Natasha shot him a puzzling look and gestured for him to hurry up. With a sharp intake of breath, Sherlock pushed the door open.

* * *

**Wow, it's been over a week since my last update, and for that you all have my sincerest apologies. (School has decided that I can cope with three essays a week, plus random assignments that take eight hours to do.)**

**On the upside, I have a cliffhanger, and some idea of where this is going! Hooray!**


	17. The Mediocre Escape

**Disclaimer: Nothing here is mine at all**

* * *

With a sharp intake of breath, Sherlock pushed open the door. There was no sound from within, save for the almost imperceptible sound of feminine breathing. Sherlock glanced cautiously at Natasha, who shrugged and continued to scan the still empty corridor.

It was now or not at all; there was still no sound from within, but Sherlock was certain that this was where the captives were being kept. He needed to see John, but he couldn't hear his breathing pattern; swallowing the dull shudder that rippled up his throat, Sherlock stepped forward into the darkened room.

"AH-OW!"

A heavy, solid weight smashed into his collarbone, almost knocking him from his feet. Sherlock stumbled back into Natasha's waiting arms with an undignified 'umph' of pain.

"Did you get him?" A sharp, feminine, cockney accent called out from the room's depths. Sherlock regained his posture, and peered curiously into the shadows. The fear that he had been feeling had abated; that swing could only have come from someone of a certain height, and a certain amount of upper body strength.

"John?" he beseeched, hoping that he was right. The sound of thick metal hitting and rebounding off the ground reverberated off the walls.

"Sherlock?!" the voice that Sherlock had been running over and over in his mind just so he wouldn't forget it emerged in tandem with the still be-jumpered, strained looking man, whose eyes widened as he took in his friend, "You actually found me?"

Sherlock's face split into a grin as he grasped at the right words to say, which for once weren't coming as he took in his friend's appearance. John's face, though tired, had lit up when he had realised who he had hit (and it was definitely John that had hit him).

"Of course I did, you know me." He drawled, letting the surge of joy overwhelm him as, completely out of character, (and he'd deny it later, Sherlock just knew he would), John threw his arms around the detective's neck and pulled him into a tight embrace, squeezing him thoroughly.

"He kept saying you would." Interjected another male voice, American this time, and at this Natasha pushed through the door, allowing light to fully flood the space as she strode across to meet the man that Sherlock assumed was Clint Barton. She greeted him with a brief touch of the hand, before he continued speaking, "Took you long enough Tasha; we were halfway through an escape attempt."

As they bickered, (something about a bow, which Natasha withdrew from her portable backpack) Sherlock took a second to scan the room, taking in the wiry beds, the now unshackled chains, the windowless brick, and the two women that were watching warily, (and haughtily) from the edge of the furthest bed. His eyes focused in on the petite brunette woman, whose hands were clasping together nervously regardless of her otherwise determined posture.

"You must be Thor's woman…Jane?" Sherlock asked, offering his hand to the woman, who took it warily and shook it, blushing and smiling awkwardly. He heard John sigh and scold under his breath (_Sherlock…_)

"I'm not Thor's _woman_…I'm just his girlfriend- I'm not _his_…I mean," she cut herself off, inhaling sharply and pulling herself together, "Yes, I'm Jane."

Sherlock nodded sharply (apparently she was a physicist, but apart from that she wasn't anything to hold his interest- introductions as John had been promoting for about a year, and then get his doctor out of here- that was the plan). He offered his hand to the haughty red-headed woman, who glared him down.

"So you must be-"

"Donna Noble, and I'm nobody's anything!" she snapped, causing Sherlock to retract his hand and shoot John a sideways glance, which was pointedly ignored as John had turned to talk to Barton.

"My apologies…" Sherlock replied caustically, "It's just that Dr Banner speaks so _highly_ of you, I couldn't help but recognise you on sight."

Donna looked ready to respond, her shoulders squaring and her face hardening, (the frustration of being held prisoner must have been getting to her, as Bruce had described her as '_tough to handle, but very emotional and understanding'_), but Jane cut her off, rising to her feet and moving forward to embrace Sherlock's hands (which only months of John's nagging prevented him from flinching away).

"I don't know how to thank you enough for coming to find us," she implored gratefully, and then looked into his eyes, her expression darkening with worry, "You said you've spoken to Thor; is he okay?"

Sherlock was saved from answering as John returned to his side, turning him around with a hand on his elbow, which Sherlock was pleased to feel, he didn't remove. John met his eyes with a curious, pondering look, that made his eyebrows pinch in the middle.

"Sherlock…how do _you _know this…'team' that they've been telling me about?" he asked slowly, as if thinking every word over before it left his mouth, "Because they are about a million miles away from _anything_ you even believe in."

Sherlock wasn't sure whether the pang in his throat was hurt, humour, or uncertainty; John, as always, saw through him in seconds. On any other day, had life not taken such a strange turn, he would have scoffed and dismissed these '_superheroes'_ as codswallop. Now he was working with them, (beginning to actually think of them as- _not friends_- but acquaintances on at least Molly's level)…and John was still watching him expectantly, standing comfortingly close.

"Do you honestly think that I wouldn't exhaust every option available to find you?" he answered honestly; he was half aware of the way that the women to the side both let out a kind of muffled sigh (even the angry one), but that was eclipsed by the way that John's eyes lit up.

"Last time you crossed something even slightly supernatural, you had a meltdown in the middle of a pub." John reminded him, and he was so clearly holding back a smile. Sherlock didn't refrain from smirking back; this was better, this was normal…he could cope with the rest of this ridiculous mess…everything was okay now.

"And I am all the more prepared for this." He said softly, and then added as a second thought, "Well done on your daring escape. I'm not sure how you got out of the chains, but the whole thing was well executed."

"Clint told Jane how to get her skinny wrists through the cuffs without breaking them," Donna interjected, giving the physicist an appraising nod, "She's got a big enough brain on her to pick the locks as well, get the rest of us out."

Jane shook her head, her cheeks flushing once again.

"It was nothing really, I mean, I was Donna's idea to wait until someone came instead of just breaking out," she stumnled over her words, the modesty making Sherlock want to cringe even though he wasn't normally in tune with others' feelings, "And it was the guys that yanked the piping down."

John chuckled under his breath, and to Sherlock's disappointment, turned to listen to Natasha and Barton, who had cleared his throat, and was waiting, poised, by the open door, him now wielding a hefty bow and arrow.

"I can't see anyone out there." Barton reported; John must have realised where the conversation was going, as he reached for the piping that had been thrown to the floor in shock. Sherlock swiftly handed him his old service revolver (which he had been carrying around for the sake of the comforting feeling it gave him to hold it), dismissing the startled raise of John's eyebrows by withdrawing the SHIELD pistol from his other pocket.

"There weren't any when we came through, and the others would have radioed me if they'd come across anyone." Natasha added, stepping through to the corridor as John handed the piping to Donna, who, to her credit, wielded it somewhat effectively.

"There were a few about yesterday." John said quietly; he had followed Clint and Natasha to the door, and was manoeuvring in a way that Sherlock liked to imagine he had on the battlefield, with elegance and poise. Regardless, they had been here too long, and he wanted John and himself out of the building, immediately.

"The best thing we can do now is leave before they change their mind and come back." Sherlock instructed, marching ahead of the others and hurrying them from the room, pulling the door shut behind them.

"I agree." Natasha intoned, her gun toted, her shoulders tenser than they had been at the beginning of the mission. As the group began to move, Sherlock realised that neither Donna, Jane, or John had actually followed more than about three feet.

"What about the others? Will they be alright without us?" Jane asked; she was the only one unarmed, and Sherlock had to admit, he did feel the slight whisperings of sympathy as he took in her small form.

"Don't worry about them, they've got themselves covered." Barton replied, and Jane, obviously drawing upon her faith in her gigantic boyfriend, nodded resolutely and hurried to join Natasha. Donna and John made no similar move.

"I am _not_ leaving here without knowing that those people are alright!" Donna insisted firmly, in a tone that brooked no argument, "They came here to save us, and I am not just letting them die because of that."

Sherlock felt a surge of anger; this was good, he could work with this. Bloody noble fools (he blatantly ignored the way that John stood patiently and waited for his turn to refuse to leave). He strode towards Donna, looming over her.

"They have _superpowers_. Your partner, Doctor Banner, I have been told becomes damn near indestructible when he's ticked off," he growled through his teeth, "All that you will achieve is to hinder any progress they make by putting yourself in danger."

Donna's face hardened, but she didn't reply. After a moment, her eyes dropped from his and she joined Barton and Natasha. Sherlock looked then to John, whose resolved was slipping.

"John…" Sherlock warned. John sighed frustrated, but nodded all the same.

"Fine, fine. Which way so we go?" he asked, and Sherlock would have given anything to have punched the air.

"The spies will lead the way." He said cheerfully, looking expectantly to Barton and Natasha. As they silently ushered the group through the deserted halls, Sherlock grasped John's hand, ignoring the put-upon protest, and pulled him along behind him.

He wondered, in the back of his mind, how the others were faring. He'd grown quite fond of Tony and Bruce (not Thor, most _definitely_ not Thor- no matter how friendly he was), and the radio silence was just a little worrying.

* * *

**Ok, so this is short compared to my last chapters, and I wanted to write so much more (never fear, it will be in the next chapter).**

**School ends is 2 days, so hopefully I'll have more than an hour to sit and write some decent stuff.**


	18. Steps, Stumbles, and Utter Failures

**Disclaimer: nothing is mine**

* * *

"Do not go through that door!" Steve hissed under his breath as he continued to scan the otherwise empty corridor. He prided himself on being an all-round patient man, (anyone that lived with Tony would have to be), but infiltrating a secret base with the Doctor had brought to light a short-temper that had been buried for longer than he dared remember.

"I wouldn't bother," Tony's voice was distorted by the Iron Man mask, which was uncomfortably shiny in the harshly lit halls, but the unfamiliar weariness in it was loud and clear, "It's become abundantly clear that _Spock_ here does what he wants, because he's _obviously_ invincible."

"Yes, thank you Tony-" Steve remarked over his shoulder, just as the Doctor straightened up from the door that he had been waving his 'screwdriver' over; it didn't take alien intelligence (only a soldier's intuition) to know that the largest door they had passed, at the end of the widest corridor, nearing the centre of the base, that had locks right up the side, would be the next best place to go. Regardless, the Doctor had swept ahead of the group, ignoring Steve's protests, and begun inspecting the thick steel panelling with a pinched expression.

"I'm the one with the know-how and the screwdriver; when I'm in the room I'm the highest authority as far as mumbo-jumbo is concerned- and I think it's very concerned at the moment." The Doctor retorted waving his screwdriver and adjusting his bow-tie and tweed lapels, and Steve couldn't tell if he was frustrated or if he was boasting, before he added in a friendly tone, "And we need to go through this door."

"Are you absolutely sure this is the right place?" Steve reiterated the same question he'd been repeating as they turned every tight corner; the whole situation was fishy, and the idea that the people they were searching for were just sitting about waiting for them to turn up made him want to turn the group around and let them wait. He couldn't do that though; the Avengers could handle themselves, and it was important that the prisoners had time to escape.

"Absolutely!" The Doctor replied (at the top of his voice), pulling a small, clumsy salute. Thor moved forward so that he was between the group and the door (it had been unspokenly decided that as the most resilient of the group, he was to take up the nose of the attack), his hammer held at waist height, ready to jump into action.

"Don't worry friends, this Timelord is known to be the cleverest man to traverse the universe…" the god took a moment to look the Doctor's rumpled form up and down, before glancing sheepishly towards the others, "Regardless of how…he may appear."

"Well so long as you're sure." Bruce interjected from the back; a quick look informed Steve that the scientist was rubbing his hands together nervously, eyeing up the door, "The last thing we want is me getting agitatedly for no reason…especially in such a, uh, confined space."

"Believe me Buddy, we know." Tony muttered, patting him on the back; the force of the titanium nudged Bruce forward and actually made him stumble. Steve shook his head and turned back to the door, moving in beside Thor and pushing the Doctor behind him.

"Okay, fine. Stop messing around and get ready to scatter if things go wrong." He instructed them, and the group fell silent, shifting into their battle stance around him as he leant back on his heels and raised his shield before him (all except the Doctor, who stood awkwardly in the centre, tip-toeing so that he could peer over Tony's shoulder.)

Wordlessly, Steve made a swift gesture with his spare hand. Thor nodded resolutely and, swinging Mjolnir first two or three times around his wrist, building up the momentum, he slammed the hammer through the door, blasting the steel into the wide space behind it with an almighty crash, and bringing a cloud of murky dust up into the air.

As the dust settled, Steve was thrown further off his guard than before. There was no response, save a muffled cough from within. He nodded to Thor, and together the two of them tread warily into the room, their weapons held aloft. Tony and Bruce followed closely behind, keeping their sights trained on the black kitted guards that lined the walls, their heads down and their rifles pointed at the floor. _This was all wrong_. The Doctor, (and Steve didn't know what else he'd expected really) strode into the room as if he owned the place and gave a quick twirl to take in the setting, a confident smirk spreading across his face.

"Well, well, well." The Doctor exclaimed happily, "Isn't this _nice_?"

Steve didn't even bother calling him back, instead looking around room as he knew the others would be. It bore all the hallmarks of a SHIELD HQ; a big horseshoe of computer terminals in the centre of the room, a raised platform around the edge (on which the motionless guards were now waiting eerily for god only knew what), and a set of shallow steps that started at either side of the room and climbed to the raised and railed area at the back of the room, on which a comfortable workstation was set out, below the wall on which an expansive black screen (which Steve could imagine Fury using to meet with the Council) wedged between two steel doors that mirrored the many they had passed in the halls.

"This is no time for games!" Thor boomed; the strange and unsettling atmosphere, made worse by the guards' refusal to even look at them, had obviously gotten to him, and out of the corner of his eye Steve could see the god's knuckles tensing as he squeezed Mjolnir tighter.

"I'd have to disagree with you there Odinson." A sharp, slippering voice with a crisp British accent clambered from the upper platform at the back of the room, making all but the Doctor yank their weapons in that direction; the Doctor's turned slowly towards the still disembodied voice, the smile on his face vanishing, only to be replaced by a broiling, turbulent, fearful anger, "It _is_ nice, after all."

The Doctor stormed forward, pausing as the guards framing the room twitched, their hands moving infinitesimally towards the barrels of their rifles. Steve could just about make out Bruce inhaling deeply and decided that this needed to stop now; they knew from the moment they left the Helicarrier that they were walking into a trap, but this was too _wrong_.

"Doctor I think you should stand back." Steve ordered, but his eyes were drawn to the silhouetted form that had risen from the high backed chair within the raised workstation.

"I gotta agree with the Captain, Doc. Get back over here!" Tony added from his position, which had morphed into a kind of back and forth patrol in front of Bruce. The Doctor ignored both commands, instead staring up at the unfamiliar figure, his eyes burning.

"How are you possibly, possibly here?" he demanded, his hand rising to gesture confusedly in the air. The man, now standing in the light, nodded towards one of the guards, who marched swiftly up the nearest curving staircase and through the rear door. The man then turned his attention back towards the Doctor; Steve inwardly grimaced at the expression on his face. The ratty blonde hair, and the cold brown eyes were marred by the demented, self-satisfied grin that spread across the round face of the man clad in a hoodie and worn jeans of all things.

"Let's just say that after you helped me clear up my _last_ mess, I woke up in some barren corner of this planet…and thought I'd take a bit of time to recover, think through some new ideas now that my head's a bit quieter." The man spoke condescendingly, but _familiarly_, to the Doctor, who was drawing in ragged breaths, his eyes wide and his non-existent eyebrows fixed about his fringe, "If anything, you've got more explaining to do than me…what happened? Did you fall through a play-centre during your regeneration?"

"Stop stalling!" The Doctor shouted back, tensely; his hands were clenching at his sides, "I thought we were past this! If you've got a problem with me, then you let this lot go and get down here, and I'll pander to whatever lingering resentments you've been harbouring."

The man laughed, a chilling, full throated, hearty laugh that rebounded off the walls and sent imperceptible shiver creeping across Steve's flesh under his suit.

"_You?_" the man drawled, as if he were in on some great joke that the others were just too slow to understand, "I didn't even know you were coming!"

Steve clenched his shield tighter in his fist, reigning in the tension that was growing in his stomach.

"What do you want with _us_ then?" he called, and strode to stand beside the Doctor, extending his shield arm so that it partly covered the man. He ignored the irritable sideways glance that the Doctor shot him, as the guards along the walls, although still stationary, had begun shifting, as if preparing to move.

"And who the Hell _are_ you?" Tony demanded before the grinning man could reply. If anything, the grin got wider.

"Pleasure to meet you Mr Stark, Mr Rogers…you really have all done _beautifully._" He drawled, and he rested his arms of the railing in front of him; the relaxed pose made Steve want to throw something at him, get him back on track, to stop messing around, but any sudden moves could set of the guards, "I am the Master."

From behind him Steve heard both Tony and Bruce ask '_what?' _in tandem, and the Doctor's shoulders slumped in defeat.

"He's a Timelord." The Doctor explained, his eyes never shifting from their position, fixed on the Master, whose smile reminded the soldier of a grimacing cat that had gotten the cream and then snaffled the family's prize budgie as well. There were confused and befuddled huffs from the rest of the group.

"The Captain asked you a question," Thor growled; one look told Steve that he was tensed and ready to attack, his head twitching as he scanned the stony facades of the grim guards that watched the proceedings without any visible emotional responses, "If you are not here for your kinsman, what do you want with us?"

The Master shook his head and pursed his lips as if he were genuinely disappointed by the question.

"I don't want anything with _you_, I just need the lot of you out of the way." He explained with a shrug, and the Doctor appeared to be holding his breath; to be fair, so was Steve, waiting for the Timelord to continue with his curveball announcement, "I want _him_."

With that the Master lifted his right hand and pointed firmly into the centre of the group, all of who turned to follow the line of the gesture. All eyes fell on Bruce, who brought his arms around his chest and shrugged into himself the way that he did when she was uncertain; not necessarily scared, just unsure of what was going to happen.

"Me?" he repeated, one eyebrow leaping above the line of his glasses as the others turned back to the Master and the Doctor cursed under his breath, "I, uh…I don't think that's a good idea, whatever you're planning."

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…" The Doctor whispered, just loud enough for Steve and Thor shake their heads dismissively, for Bruce to shrug cautiously, and for Tony to mutter _'Don't worry about it dude.",_ "I should never have brought you here."

Steve gnawed momentarily on his lip before making another move; they needed to keep him talking, give the prisoners and Natasha time to get out, and _then_ provoke a confrontation.

"What do you want with Bruce?" Steve inquired, keeping the tone polite; it would do no good to lose his temper, and the others would follow his lead rather than act on their frustration, "You have to know you can't control him."

At that moment the door to the left of the Master swung open and the guard that had left earlier marched back into place. In his wake strolled the man that Steve had seen on the kidnapping footage; the Irish one, with the cold, stilted facial expressions and dark close-cut styled hair. He was dressed in what Steve could only assume was a designer suit, and as he entered and meandered to take his place beside the Master, his face was hardened into a speculative glare as he surveyed the scene. Around him, Steve felt the others tense. The Master waved a flippant hand and rolled his eyes.

"Don't worry, this is just my new colleague-"

"Jim Moriarty…" the Irishman drawled, the words rolling and vacillating from his lips, which lifted minutely at the corners only to drop again as his eyes widened, as cold as ever; it occurred to Steve that this man, out of the two, was definitely insane, "Hi…"

"So you really raised this guy from the dead?" Tony mused, the morbid fascination leaking through his tinny voice even as he continued to point his charged gloves at the guards, who had, in the time that Steve had been distracted, wrapped their hands around their rifles and lifted their heads, actually watching the Avengers that they seriously outnumbered.

It was Moriarty that answered; his eyebrows were still pinched in disgruntlement, but his eyes lit up dully as they fell on Tony's suit.

"Of _course_ he did," he answered, the cheerful demeanour tainted by the threatening, hateful edge to it, "This man has _vision_, but he's useless with admin and networking-_no_… his plans require someone with experience of the criminal world, _or_ to be more exact…the head of a criminal empire."

"But what do you want with _me?_" Bruce's strained voice had every head turning back to him; Steve felt a pang of sympathy for the man. He was gripping his wrist tightly and appeared to be inhaling deeply to calm himself; Tony had moved closer to him in a show of support. The sympathy was crushed somewhat by the sudden realisation that they could only allow Bruce to become a certain amount of scared before they were in trouble; the Hulk may have helped in New York, but that was Bruce's decision, and in the open air.

The Master's low chuckle filled the room as Moriarty continued to stare pensively about the space.

"I need your DNA." The Master said, and his playful self-congratulatory tone harshened and cut the air like a frozen rotor blade, "I'm going to combine your DNA, with some Timelord DNA - which makes _your_ presence a _great_ help Doctor, now I won't have to start cutting myself up – and then I'm going to set lose a small, but _powerful_ army."

"You need to stop this!" The Doctor begged, and he made to stride forward but Steve stopped him just as Bruce intoned,

"You'll have a hard time ruling a planet that's been flattened." He noted dryly.

The Master gave a full-on laugh that echoed horribly off the cold stone walls. His hands tightened and retracted around the railing that he continued to lean on.

"But I _want _to flatten it! I don't care about Earth anymore; that's the Doctor's stomping ground, I just want it gone." He hissed, the sadistic joy stretching and distorting his features, "and once I've done that, I can have a go at the _seat of power_… Earth's nothing next to Asgard!"

Thor made a sound of fury and Steve saw Mjolnir begin swinging; the guards either side of them stiffened and the rifles rose. He tensed, ready to start fighting, even though he knew they might not get out unscathed; hopefully Natasha had got the civilians out. He didn't have time to find out as Moriarty raised a hand.

"Stop!" he yelled; Steve hadn't realised that such a violent, stabbing shout could come out of such a small man, whose previous words had been nothing but suave and lilting, "We're missing one! Where's Sherlock Holmes?"

Steve shared a sideways glance with the Doctor, and saw that the others were sharing equally wary stares. Nobody seemed to know why they weren't being shot at yet.

"It doesn't matter!" the Master snapped, glaring irritably at Moriarty (this argument must have happened before), "I know how these heroes work, once the civilians are out, they'll come here to help their _friends_."

"NO THEY WON'T!" Moriarty roared, which made the Master turn away from the Avengers, none of who knew what to do, and listen to him directly, "I KNOW SHERLOCK! HE'LL NEVER LEAD THE GROUP BACK TO US, HE'LL JUST TAKE WATSON AND GO!"

Steve regrettably had to agree; Sherlock wasn't a bad guy, but he had one goal in mind, and out of all the Avengers, Natasha and Clint were the most likely to retreat back to base and wait for them to return under their own steam.

The Master had clearly come to the same conclusion, as his bemused expression dropped as the realisation of his faulty plan dawned on him. The team flinched unanimously as he whirled on the guards.

"GET AFTER THEM!" he screamed, and about half of the guards ran haphazardly through the doors as his tirade continued, "DO NOT LET THEM OUT!"

"Be ready to fight your way out…" the Doctor whispered in Steve's ear. He nodded dutifully and gestured to Tony and Thor, who nodded their assent. Bruce was still dragging in deep breaths, but he was holding it together.

Moriarty was pacing back and forth across the raised platform, his arms folded and his fingers stroking his chin in agitation; he called over his shoulder to the remaining guards (which Steve was sure they could take down now that the numbers were depleted).

"Kill them."

The Master shook his head and sighed in a put-upon manner.

"Well go on!" he corroborated, and without a cursory look, he strode through the door at the back of the room. Moriarty gave the group one last sharky grin as they back up together, dropping into battle stance, their weapons held aloft.

"Bring me Holmes!" he ordered the guards, and then swept from the room in the Master's wake.

The gunshots smashed the eerie quiet before Steve had time to instruct the group; he swung his shield around hastily as the guards rushed forward, catching sight of Thor's hammer whizzing angrily through the air, and the blasts from Tony's suit flashing dangerously off the walls. The cacophony of explosions, like misshaped footsteps barrelling on all sides, was interrupted only by the deafening squeal of the Doctor's screwdriver as he pointed it here and there, dancing around the rain of bullets by sheer luck.

"IT'S TIME TO GO!" Steve yelled, barely making himself heard. Somewhere in the mess, he heard Tony repeating his words, but before he could take proper notice, he was forced to slam his shield into the collarbone of another guard that had appeared at his side in an attempt to jam the butt of his rifle in the soldier's face.

Rose leapt to her feet, only able to stand now that the initial panic at what she was seeing wore off. As she deserted her perch on the laboratory desk, gasping at the mess and confusion on the screen before her, Loki remained deathly still in the chair beside her, his hands placed upon his lap. This was…_strange_. The threat to Asgard brought about a kind of ingrained worry (it _was _his home, regardless of what had happened), and he did feel some concern for Thor among the rabble (he would be able to get out though, most definitely), but overall, it was just strange to watch the Avengers fighting another enemy.

Loki looked up quickly, affronted, when Rose's hand collided with the back of his head, and he realised belatedly that she had been talking to him.

"What?" he asked petulantly; he pursed his lips in frustration (he had suffered far too much inconvenience today).

Rose's face was contorted with helplessness, and her hands were clenching by her sides; her blonde hair was messy and ratted, as if she'd been running her hands through it.

"I said 'Don't just sit there!', We've got to try and help!" she insisted. Her deep brown eyes were begging him to do…_anything_, but Loki couldn't find the energy to bother. In fact, he knew he should probably been ashamed of it, but he couldn't help the dull, bubbling pleasure that had settled in his gut at the events on the screen. It was like watching Bildgesnipe fighting each other; messy and horrific, but almost entertaining.

"and what would you have me _do_?" he replied after a moment's mock thought, his eyebrows raised in a picture of innocence. Rose made a frustrated, furious noise in the back of her throat, and once she had hurled the glass flasks from the desk at him (to which he felt a sense of victory at his firm refusal to flinch- he'd had worse pain), stormed from the lab, her footsteps ringing.

Loki glanced back at the screen, which was still a scramble of colour and noise; the room felt empty now, too dull (and a little bit lonely). It _would_ be entertaining to watch the mortals scrabbling about and working themselves up over this mess, if nothing else. With a sigh, Loki hoisted himself to his feet, the chains around his wrists clanking against each other.

The dark travelling cloak that still hung around his shoulders clipped his heels as Loki followed the direction that Rose had taken, and moments later he found himself stepping through the sliding doors onto the Bridge, which was abuzz with activity. He felt a jolt of enjoyment, and then annoyance, as the pale-faced agents pushed past him, and continued down the steps to where Rose was yelling and gesturing wildly at Fury.

"I _told _you Miss Tyler! I saw the footage, and I'm working on it!" Fury barked at the young woman, sparing only an acidic glare for Loki as he sidled up beside her (she too glared at him, but ignored him in favour of continuing her argument – to the god's frustration), "Hill! Get one jet down there to remove the civilians!"

"Yes Sir!" Agent Hill parroted back; as she shouldered past Loki he was treated to another caustic glare. Rose didn't give up, putting herself in Fury's path.

"You've gotta get the others out as well!" She demanded, desperately pleading with him, "You can't let them fight their way out, they'll never make it! Get them out, and then blow that place up; I've been told about that Master bloke, and he's dangerous!"

Fury stopped in his tracks and met Rose's gaze; nobody breathed for a moment, and then Fury rolled his good eye and shouted over his shoulder.

"Get the choppers out and pull them from the building if you have to!" he ordered, "Then bring us around and get us over that base!"

Rose sighed in relief and leant into Loki's side as the agents around them got to work. He didn't share the sentiment, but watched nonetheless as events began to take a turn for the worse on the large monitor across the room. _This was going to be interesting._

It hadn't really occurred to Sherlock that they might not get out alive until they reached the door to the outside, and he was hit by a gust of icy wind that didn't quite muffle the frantic footsteps that echoed viciously off the halls behind them. Tony's cries that it was time to leave had come through on Natasha's radio, and she'd thrown off any guise of stealth and instructed them to run as fast as they could. Sherlock had to agree; he didn't want to find out what either Jane or Donna would look like in a fight.

Clint and Natasha took up position either side of the door, allowing the others to hurry into the snow and the biting chill. John's hand was ripped from his as the soldier fastened his grip on the service revolver.

"John! We've got to go!" Sherlock shouted over the roar of the wind; they needed to leave. They needed to leave _right now_ before he and John were in any more danger.

"Go _where_ Sherlock?" John replied sharply, "The others aren't here yet, and I reckon I can hold the guards off until they get here." Sherlock growled and shook his head, grasping John's good shoulder, but he was shrugged off, "Sherlock, just get the girls back to whatever vehicle you came in."

Sherlock gritted his teeth as he watched John line up beside the spies. There was nothing he could say to persuade John now that his mind was made up, but that didn't stop him wanting to. Reluctantly, he looked to Jane and Donna, who were hugging their arms against themselves against the cold; Donna was still clutching the pipe close to her chest. _Bloody Hell_, he thought.

"Are you up for a walk?" he asked as confidently as he could, setting his jaw; John was right, the women needed to get away before things got rough, and the detective wasn't heartless, not really, "The jet's not far from here."

"But we can't take off without the others!" Jane insisted; Donna nodded her agreement, but her teeth were chattering too fast for words to come out. Despair swan-dived in his gut, and Sherlock knew she was right; they couldn't leave yet, but the guards were almost on top of them.

Sherlock spun agitatedly on the spot, his shoes kicking up the snow as his hands grasped at his hair. Suddenly, there a harsh light fell upon them, momentarily blinding him, and it was only then that he noticed the sound of engines over the wind that rushed through the air. He realised what was happening a moment before the jet swooped down to hover feet off the ground, and he pulled grabbed the two women by the arms, and pulling them out of the way.

The hatch to the jet opened up as it rocked in the air, and an agent yelled above the noise.

"GET IN! WE'RE SENDING HELP TO THE OTHERS!"

Sherlock didn't need any more encouragement; he pushed Jane and Donna into the arms of the awaiting agents, and took a moment to check that John was following. They must have seen what was happening and understood, as when armed guards burst from the building, Natasha and Clint were sprinting past him onto the jet, leaping aboard with practised ease.

John was only a fraction slower, and he grabbed Sherlock's hand as he passed, pulling him aboard as well, the two of them hitting the floor of the jet as gunshots ripped through the air and bullets ricocheted off the closing hatch and the jet screeched into the sky.

Steve cursed bad timing and SHIELD, and Fury, and anything he could think of. They had taken out about half of the guards, but more had returned, apparently having lost the prisoners (small mercies), and just as the sound of helicopters above sounded, Bruce lost control.

He heard an agonised groan, more of a scream, and then out of the corner of his eye, through the fighting, he saw Bruce fall to his knees and begin to convulse. He heard the Doctor shouting to himself about how '_This is not good, this is really, very, not good'. _

Before he was fully aware of what was happening, a blood-curdling roar tore through the air, and moments later three guards were thrown away in front of Steve's eyes as the Hulk barrelling his way across the room, green, growling, spittle flying everywhere. He was panicking, the space too small, too much going on, which would make him completely uncontrollable.

Most of the guards gave up any pretence of fighting and fled as quickly as they could, the rest battled on, but seemed to forget that there were other, less transformed, Avengers to tackle. Tony was yelling something at the Hulk as he hovered just out of reach, and Thor was attempting to keep the guards away from them both, swinging his hammer as the Doctor chattered on and on, his screwdriver poised, whirring pathetically at the Hulk's ignorant rage.

Suddenly there were harsh lights, red and white, blaring into the room, and a cold, icy wind. Steve froze and, peering over the arm held up to shade his eyes, saw that the roof had been taken clean off the building. There was so much noise that he hadn't heard it happen. Even stranger, and a great relief, was the sight of the Helicarrier gliding into view, settling over the abandoned base, and the smaller helicopter edging over the fresh gap, its hatch fixed open.

However, the added confusion just intensified the Hulk's anger, and with a rattling roar that shook the remaining walls, he knocked Thor and the Doctor off their feet and into the raised platform. Steve rushed over to help the smaller man as Thor righted himself, but the Timelord just brushed himself off and kept murmuring about '_the right setting'._

Tony appeared at Steve's shoulder and yelled as loud as he could (aided by Iron Man speakers).

"FURY SAYS TO GET IN THE CHOPPER! WE NEED TO FALL BACK!"

As the last of the guards finally realised that they couldn't stand up against the Hulk, who was taking every piece of the room he could find and tearing it to shreds, the room began to clear, leaving only the path of destruction to deal with. Nodding the affirmative, Steve followed Tony into the helicopter, panting as he watched Thor dodge a swing from the Hulk to grab the Doctor, hurl him over his shoulder and run the two of them into the vehicle.

"What about Banner!" Thor asked, as the Helicopter began to rise; he too was gasping for breath. The Hulk took another swipe, this time at the Helicopter, catching the rim, but the pilot jerked from his grasp, flying them higher into the sky, under the shelter of the Helicarrier.

"The two nut-jobs have gone, so we can just wait for him to wear himself out." Tony gasped, his chest heaving as he pulled the mask from his face. Steve dropped an arm around his shoulders.

The Doctor shook his head gravely, and with a jolt of misgiving, Steve followed his line of sight, which covered the still fuming Hulk. He realised a moment too late that Tony had been wrong.

A beam of green light, thick and fast, shot through the air, narrowly missing the Helicarrier. The heat from it was so intense that Steve could feel it radiating on the flesh of his cheeks.

"Shit! They're still there!" Tony cursed, and there was a clang as his mask hit the floor roughly. Another beam of light cut through the air, this time grazing the edge of one of the large engines.

"We can't leave him here with them!" Steve shouted to the pilot. He had no idea what to do.

The Doctor pushed to the front of the group and gripped the top of the still open hatch.

"You tell the pilots and Fury to leave the area." The Doctor instructed, and any protest that Steve tried to voce was cut off by a stern, undeniable look that made him understand why Thor was so adamant that this was a powerful and feared warrior, "I'll stay with him."

With that he threw himself from the aircraft, Thor's hands too slow to stop him. Steve could just about hear a screaming, feminine voice emanating from Tony's discarded mask, but he ignored that, too focused on the flood of relief as the Timelord's shrinking form hopped to its feet. He hadn't realised that he wasn't doing anything until Tony slipped from his embrace and spoke into the radio, telling Fury to get out of the area.

As the Helicopter began to move hastily through the air, away from the base, and the Helicarrier whirred louder above as it powered away into the higher air, Steve couldn't be sure, but he could have sworn that he saw the Doctor lifting his right arm (presumably wielding his screwdriver), and the Hulking green mass swaying slightly, stumbling and dropping to the ground.

* * *

**It's been a while, so I have written a chapter far longer than any of the previous ones. There was a lot to pack into this, so I hope you all like it :)**

**Let me know what you think?**


	19. Decisions, decisions

**Disclaimer- nope, still not mine**

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The air between them hung stiff and unwelcoming, as if the warmest day of the summer had been violently interrupted by an impromptu snowstorm. The lab was only, partially lit (Sherlock hadn't figured out how to work the lights yet- in his defence, it had been a rough few days), but John's face didn't need to be illuminated for him to make out the disappointed tensing of his jaw or the unhappy juxtaposition of his limbs.

"No Sherlock." His flatmate shook his head sharply as his lips pinched together, "I don't care what excuses you throw at me, we are _not_ just going back to Baker Street and pretending that everything's fine."

Sherlock bit back the piercing retort that threatened to escape his lips; it was too soon to drive John from the room, he had only just got him back within arm's reach.

"John, I came here, and put up with these _imbeciles_ for days, to get_ you_." The detective gritted out, reigning in his temper, "Now I've got you, I have no desire to entangle myself with _their_ problems."

John scoffed derisively and a knowing smirk (that Sherlock absolutely wanted to either smack or kiss away) pulled at the right side of his face.

"Oh don't give me all this 'imbeciles' rubbish! I sat and watched you get all matey with that Stark bloke on the ride up here." John argued, his smirk expanding as Sherlock's hands shot agitatedly into his pockets and he stiffened petulantly, "and you didn't even flinch when the big blonde one swung his arm around your shoulder."

"I wasn't getting _matey_," Sherlock replied tetchily; he was struggling internally at the amount of people that his memory bank was so quickly filling up with, the last thing he needed was John, _wonderful John, better scolding than missing, _pointing it out, "It's self-preservation, not moving when Thor gets affectionate, and all I said to Tony was that Bruce would probably be alright as he's damn-near indestructible, so he should stop fussing so _loudly_."

"Coming from you that's a hug and a handkerchief." John muttered, before looking to his feet, which he scuffed uncomfortably across the ground. Sherlock wanted nothing more than to stride across the room and embrace him, but there silence stretched between them like a tangible dam. It took longer than he thought it would to decide upon the right words.

"John." Sherlock said quietly, but his voice carried across the otherwise empty room; he watched warily as his flatmate, his best friend, raised his head to emotionlessly meet his gaze, "I have only just found you; do not make me risk that by interfering with things that have nothing to do with us."

He heard John's breath his through his teeth, and felt a moment of irrational worry when John's footsteps followed, growing imperceptibly lower as the doctor neared. He stopped just over a foot away from the detective and looked up at him, his face a mixture of sadness and determination.

"Sherlock, I don't care if it has nothing to do with us. We're here now, so we help…because it's the right thing to do." John enunciated every syllable, and Sherlock couldn't fight the feeling that he was being berated as well as instructed; he would not feel guilty for wanting John safe, "and in case you're forgetting…Moriarty, _god knows_ how he can possibly be alive, wants you!" at this John prodded Sherlock gently in the chest, and Sherlock tried his hardest not to pout, the inevitability of the discussion dawning on him, "You're right, we have nothing to do with this, and there was no reason to involve us- we're not _superheroes_ or spies…but Moriarty wants you, and he's not going to let you get away with hiding back in London."

"It wouldn't be hiding-" Sherlock muttered bitterly, meeting John's blue eyes, "I'm proposing a tactical retreat, but if you're shooting that down-"

"I'm shooting it down." John replied with a restrained chuckle. Sherlock felt his own face heat up slightly as a small laugh made a half-hearted escape.

"Right," he concurred; another glance at John and he was smiling again, biting his bottom lip and swaying slightly on the spot, his hands still in his pocket, "Right…I suppose we should join the others…see if they've decided how to retake Bruce."

John nodded decidedly and gestured for Sherlock to lead the way. They walked side by side into the corridor, Sherlock lessening his pace so that he could enjoy John's presence beside him, the light pressure as their arms brushed against each other.

"I take it Bruce is the green monster that I saw when we were on the helicopter?" John asked curiously as they made their way towards the Bridge; his tone held nothing but grudging acceptance, and Sherlock knew how difficult it was for him to accept that there were strange things in the world, and contrary to his overly optimistic view of the world, they government were not about to openly sell them down the local market.

"Yes, that was Dr Banner. I have to admit, his transformed physique is far more remarkable than I'd have expected," Sherlock answered truthfully, and then as the thought occurred, "and he's not a _monster_, he just suffers the results of the worst side of science."

"_Well_…if a smart man like you says it, then it _must_ be true." A dark, dulcet, but light tone drifted down the hall, and Sherlock turned abruptly to see Loki, wandering idly towards them, his hands still shackled loosely before him, although this did little in the way of restriction; in all the fuss on the Bridge he must have slipped away, but Sherlock thought the pale alien man looked a little bored, "Though I must say I don't think I'll ever warm to the beast."

"I doubt he's too fond of you." Sherlock shot back; he didn't think Loki was that much of a threat. A challenge, maybe, but the man was so obviously stewing that there was no imminent danger.

Loki merely scoffed cheerfully and let a cold grin inch partially up his cheeks; his eyes were dancing playfully, and Sherlock hoped that it was glee at the panic that the others were getting caught up in.

"I'm sorry!" John cut in, and Sherlock turned to look questioningly down at the irritable confusion on his face, "But who the hell are _you_?"

Loki let out another elongated, drawn out laugh that actually made John retreat a fraction into Sherlock's side, although he couldn't have been aware of it, as he continued to glare cluelessly at the god. Sherlock placed a hand on John's extended arm.

"I am Loki…of Asgard." The god announced proudly, his eyes hardening, as if daring the doctor to contradict him. Sherlock decided it was best to step in when John's expression twisted in even deeper confusion and his mouth opened in disbelief.

"John, this is the extra-terrestrial man that the Norse used to worship as the god of mischief and lies," he explained coolly, watching with a small spark of humour as Loki's face softened with amusement, even as John let out a high pitched strangled sound from the back of his throat, "and a few months ago he tried to lead an invasion on New York." At this John let out a proper strangled sound that might have been a _WHAT_, but Sherlock couldn't be sure, "though why he'd want to do that I don't know…New York's so monotonous, nothing but petty thieves and white-collar scandals."

Loki's grin widened, his green eyes brightening wickedly; Sherlock ignored the minor attack that John appeared to be having beside him.

"Would things have been different had I attempted to take your country?" Loki inquired; during the conversation he had strolled closer to the pair, and now rested elegantly against the nearest wall, his arms folded awkwardly over his chest, tangled in the chain connecting them.

"There would have been less running and screaming, and probably more Londoners standing on the street trying to film it through their phones." Sherlock mused, and Loki let out a small laugh, his chest vibrating with the effort, "I'd rather say that Londoners have become a bit hardened to aliens in the past few years; probably because the government keeps telling them that all the things that have happened are done to wifi going mad, or hallucinogenic pollen being accidentally dispersed."

"They sound like a fascinating lot." Loki intoned pleasantly. John was still looking disbelievingly between Sherlock and Loki, his hand moving through the air at the two of them, his mouth opening and closing comically.

"_Sherlock…_" he finally managed to squeeze out, and the detective looked down at his friend quizzically; he couldn't understand what was getting him so het up, "_Don't make friends with the man that tried to kill us all!"_

"I'm not making _friends_." Sherlock corrected disdainfully.

"And I didn't want to _kill_ you," Loki added condescendingly, looking at John as if he were merely another inconvenience to add to the list of meaningless drivel he had experienced that day, "I wanted to _rule_ you."

"Because that makes it_ so_ much better!" John snapped, and Loki had the front to look insulted. Sherlock brushed his arm in front of his flatmate, which made him shut up.

"If you ever make any headway with that, I recommend you use your talents for mischief to think up some interesting crimes for me to unravel." He told Loki, who pushed himself away from the wall and peered, baffled, at the detective, "A life of totalitarian servitude would be incredibly dull."

Beside him John exhaled despairingly and dropped his head into his hand. Loki's face lit up with excited glee.

"Oh…I _like_ you." He drawled, his eyes burning, "You're hilarious fun."

"Charmed." Sherlock replied, taking John's hand as he did so, ignoring the doctor's indignant huff and the way that Loki's eyes travelled momentarily to the point of contact, "Now, are you joining us on the Bridge?"

Loki shook his head, and glanced coldly at the shackles that clanked as he moved.

"No, I think I'll wander until someone realises that I'm gone." He answered, and with that he turned and began to stroll slowly back the way he had come, seemingly without a destination in mind.

"Should we be letting him go?" John demanded roughly, making to follow the man. Sherlock pulled him back and shrugged carelessly.

"Probably not; let's see what the others have been deciding without us."

"When I left them, Fury was yelling that they would not be returning to that base in the ice." Loki's voice carried down the hall, but when Sherlock turned to look, the god did not turn back, but kept drifting aimlessly away; their voices must have carried down to him.

With another shrug, Sherlock darted down the corridor, dragging John behind him in the direction of the Bridge.

* * *

**A short bridge chapter as an offering, as I have had zero time to write something long- but I am working on the next one.**

**Hope you like it**


	20. A Plan of Action

**Disclaimer: I don't own Avengers, Doctor Who, Sherlock, or Torchwood**

* * *

The Bridge, when Sherlock and John entered it, was teeming with activity. Behind him, John paused, his hand slipping from the detective's as he took a sharp intake of breath at the vast technological superfluousness of the Helicarrier's control hub. Sherlock felt a spark of interest, drowned out by a wave of disillusionment as he strode towards the riotous gathering around the circular table.

At first glance it appeared that everyone was trying to outshout the other, but as Sherlock wedged himself between the now unsuited Tony, and Steve (John's presence reappearing at his shoulder), it became apparent that it was merely the effect of each person jostling against the others that amplified the argument between Fury and Rose Tyler, who were standing off against each other, a sizable gap between them and the rest of the group. The only people standing truly apart were Thor and Jane, who were about a metre away, leaning solemnly against a computer terminal, watching with wary, thoughtful eyes, their arms intertwined.

"I'm not going to say this again!" Rose yelled, her voice taking on a scratchy timbre as it grew louder, "You turn this thing around, and _go back for them!"_

"And I'm not going to say _this_ again!" Fury roared back, his chest heaving as he glared down at the blonde woman, "We are _not_ going back! They will _shoot us_ out of the sky!"

"The Doctor wouldn't leave any of you behind!" she shouted back, ignoring how he rolled his eye at her; Sherlock couldn't help but admire her perseverance, she may not have been that bright, but she would definitely put up one hell of a fight, "In fact, _that's_ the whole reason he's still there!"

"You heard what they want to do to Banner!" Tony interjected; he was holding himself stiffly, his arms winding and unwinding uncomfortably around his chest, and Sherlock gestured for John to do something comforting, which the doctor obeyed with a strange expression on his face, "We can't leave the big guy there, _he'll_ suffer, then _we'll all_ suffer."

"I know-" Fury snapped, but Steve cut him off, bypassing him completely to meet the eyes of the Avengers and the women.

"I doesn't really matter what they're planning," he explained firmly, waving away the piercing glare that Donna sent him, "What matters is that we've got two soldiers in enemy hands. We need to come up with a plan to retrieve them."

"Thank you." Rose corroborated, raising a hand to Steve, and staring meaningfully at Fury.

"Soldier-boy's got the right idea," Donna added, "If you try and leave Bruce and the Doctor there…believe me, I will kick up _one hell_ of a fuss and you'll wish one of us had never been born."

"Sir, it's your call, but if Donna here's not scared, we shouldn't be either." Clint stepped forward, his expression stony and determined, "After what I've seen within the base, I'd like to have a chance to greet those guys myself."

"We've defied orders before," Natasha continued determinedly, her eyes meeting Clint's in silent agreement over the table, "we're willing to do it again. I for one don't want to let it get so close to an actual invasion this time."

"So it's agreed?" Steve verified, waiting for each member of the group to nod their assent, while Fury spluttered in the background and Rose shot him dirty looks, "We need to find some way to take Bruce and the Doctor back. Rose, Thor… you both know a lot about extra-terrestrials, so you're our first port of call for that. The rest of us, Tony, Clint, Natasha, Thor you can help with this too, we act as ground troops-"

"I want to help."

The group fell silent, and Sherlock swung around to glare at John, who had spoken up and was now looking momentarily overwhelmed by the eyes of the superheroes he had spent mornings watching on the news. The detective bit back his frustration; he had told John they would help, but honestly…he didn't want John on the battlefield. He didn't want him anywhere, but there was no arguing with him.

"You are?" Steve asked, peering at John, and his jumper, warily, and Sherlock could see the counterargument forming. Just one, if the soldier could come through for him, Sherlock would be in his debt forever.

"Oh, yeah um sorry…Dr John Watson." John cleared his throat and answered awkwardly, offering his hand out to shake and then withdrawing it quickly; he looked every bit the fluffy civilian among the gold-plated pigeons, "I'm a soldier…I was attached to the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, I, uh, served in Afghanistan for a while…I won't get in the way."

"You don't look like a squaddie." Tony sniped, snapping his mouth shut when Sherlock glared at him. Steve on the other hand, looked John up and down with a new appraising glint in his eye.

"Good to hear it soldier-"

"John is a Captain." Sherlock interrupted, earning a surprised glance from Steve. John apologised under his breath, but the detective noticed how he stood a little straighter, and his shoulders squared proudly. Steve fitted a pleasant smile.

"Me too…I suppose that means I can't order you around." He announced, offering his hand for John to shake. John did so, and smirked, self-satisfied.

"Probably not, but I'm not averse to constructive instructions."

"Good."

The two men appraised each other, and Sherlock felt the tension in the room simultaneously dissipate and grow, as impossible as that seemed, as the need to move, to be doing something, vibrated through the group. Natasha and Clint were surreptitiously tapping and scrolling on SHIELD computers, bringing up various schematics and readings, and Thor was still gazing thoughtfully at the ground, his fingers running smoothly over his chin while Jane brushed her hand up and down his arm, but everyone else was holding their tongues, choosing to wait for Steve to continue and lead them rather than shout a mish-mash of ideas and demands at each other.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sherlock noticed Fury pushing himself back into the frame in an attempt to regain control.

"I think you're all forgetting that I am _not_ turning this vehicle around." He growled, and to his credit, Fury didn't quail under the passive-aggressive glares of the group. Tony rolled his eyes with an audible huff, and Natasha leaned over to whisper something in Clint's ear. Rose inhaled raggedly and pinned her arms around her chest.

"I don't care_ what_ you do- I'm goin' after the Doctor, and I will find a way to do it with or without you." She said unwaveringly, her lips quivering with pent-up frustration; without taking her eyes off of Fury, she strode to Donna's side and pulled at the woman's sleeve encouragingly, "Donna'll help me, won't you?"

"Too right I will!" Donna assured her, placing her hand firmly over the other woman's in a companionable manner, "You lot may be fine staying safe up here with your guns and your clever laptops," she mocked, directing her tirade at Fury; Tony glanced, an eyebrow raised, at Sherlock, who assumed that this was an appraisal (or admiration) of the woman, and could only return the gesture with a curt nod, "but if we have to walk in there unarmed, we will- because it would be the _right_ thing to do, even if it weren't my Bruce and the Doctor back there."

"And Bruce'd kill me if I let his girl walk into trouble without back-up." Tony added, earning himself a grateful smile.

Fury slammed his hand down on the table in anger, letting out a string of expletives as his eye burned into everyone it could land on.

"I told you! We are not going back for them until we know for sure that we won't be blown out of the sky." He ordered.

"Director-"

Fury cut Natasha off with a swift look.

"What the _hell_ do you all expect to achieve with no intell, no idea what is actually being planned, or any kind of plan as to how to tackle the problem?"

Sherlock bristled at that; he wanted to brush it all up to Moriarty, a desire to hunt him down and finish it as soon as possible, so that life could get back to normal, but he knew that it wasn't. Oh, it was true that he could accept that he was defensive because of the way that John huffed irritably beside him; John wanted to save these people, so Sherlock wanted to keep him happy. But there was also a small part of him that acknowledged the disappointed edge to the usually so animated Tony, and that was detachedly worried about Bruce (who had been so kind, and was so _clever_), about what this would do to the scientist's already fragile self-esteem, if his DNA was used to hurt anyone. Contrary to popular belief, Sherlock was human…he did care for his friends' emotional well-being, if only in the abstract.

"If you'll excuse me Director," the detective drawled, taking pleasure in the way that Fury straightened out slowly and waited for him to speak (obviously not used to civilians talking down at him, let alone his own staff), "But seeing as I've been roped into this," Sherlock looked pointedly at John, "I assumed that I would be assisting in the 'intell' area…after all, unravelling mysteries and connecting the dots is rather my forte."

"You shouldn't even be here." Fury argued tetchily after a few moments; Sherlock felt that familiar surge of self-importance that usually came with outsmarting the fools at Scotland Yard as he caught the impressive smirk on Tony's face.

"Well it's a good thing we are," John answered for the detective, facing Fury with the same old anti-authority expression that he wore when talking to Mycroft, "A few extra pairs of hands isn't a problem is it?"

Fury shook his head just as Agent Hill strode across the deck and into the midst of the group, shouldering past Clint. She looked disdainfully at Sherlock when he made eye-contact, and he got the impression that the response was the same regardless of who looked at her.

"It doesn't matter how many of you there are, it won't work." Hill reported dully, on edge against the defiance that Rose and Donna practically radiated.

"I already said- we'll keep trying-" Rose insisted, but Hill turned her head towards her with a sharp movement and stared her down.

"It won't work because they've gone." Hill explained; there was a collective intake of breath, only just masking Steve's curse.

Sherlock wasn't shocked; of course they had gone. They had Bruce and now they had another Timelord, they would have copies of anything they needed for their plans (which had been explained on the way back to the Helicarrier) to work; there was no need for them to stay in the Northern base now that they had been discovered. Moriarty wouldn't have allowed it even if this 'Master' had wanted to.

"How did they _go_? Why didn't you stop them?" Donna demanded, looking desperately between Fury and Hill.

"Hold on," Rose said accusingly, "If you've got the technology to scan the base and know they've left, why didn't you pull the Doctor and Bruce out of there when we had the chance?"

Fury ignored both of their demands, and pushed past them, pulling Hill to the side.

"Are you sure?" he muttered, but the Bridge had fallen silent, making every word ring off of the metal interior.

"Certain Sir, our monitoring systems caught traces of them leaving, and all power readings have been terminated." Hill reeled off, and Sherlock caught Steve exchanging glances with Tony. The game had changed, which meant that any plans the soldier had formulated had dissipated with Hill's words.

A warm pressure on his arm caught Sherlock's attention, and he realised that John had taken it upon himself to lean into him. The looked up as Sherlock shifted beside him, and gave a strained smile; the detective couldn't help but respond with an involuntary quirk of his lips. His eyes lingered on John's and those few moments drowned out the rest of the Bridge, fading away only as Hill marched away to order around some more agents, and Steve began addressing Fury again. A thought occurred.

"This plan," Sherlock said loudly, causing the others to turn half-heartedly to him, "to create an army of Hulk-esque creatures and move from planet to planet before taking over Asgard, could that work?"

"People've had weirder plans." Rose muttered; Sherlock shook his head and brushed her off with a sweeping gesture.

"I mean the science." He stressed, beginning to pace until he remembered that he was in a confined space, and that everyone else was watching him; he turned to address Tony and Fury respectively, "Could the science work?"

"It wouldn't be the first time someone's dipped into genetic manipulation." Tony noted, his eyes tracing the floor sadly, skittering about with nothing solid to focus on.

"And SHIELD's been working on interdimensional travel since Thor's first visit." Natasha added, "Miss Foster's our expert in that area."

Sherlock nodded swiftly, absorbing the information before wheeling around to face Jane Foster, who looked up, as if surprised to have been brought into the discussion. Thor remained impassive, gazing into the middle-distance.

"That research is all theoretical." Fury asserted, but Sherlock made a frustrated sound and made as if to wave him away. Tony too was waving his hand dismissively at the Director. John left Sherlock's side to stand near Jane in a show of solidarity.

"Jane, you were telling us about your research in the base." He said encouragingly, glancing at Sherlock as if to warn him of what would happen if he wasn't gentle with the woman. The detective had to push away the notion that this woman, however frail she may look, was hardly about to crumble under his scrutiny.

"Well yeah…I've been trying to replicate the Bifrost," Jane explained, her hands making round-about movements already, "SHIELD's been funding, my research into interstellar travel."

"And is it working yet?" Sherlock demanded quickly, snapping his fingers impatiently despite the irritable look that John sent him; he needed data.

Jane shook her head, her light brown hair floating lightly about her face as she did so.

"The quantum mechanical side of it is entirely theoretical," she answered, and she let out a small nervous laugh, "and we haven't got the capability to make it work so far…but all of the information's on the SHIELD databases."

"Which can be accessed from any SHIELD base." Natasha interjected exasperatedly; Sherlock closed his eyes and exhaled despairingly, as her point sunk in. It was Tony that swore this time, but it was drowned out by Fury's expletive.

"Well that's just _brilliant_." Donna exclaimed, throwing her hands up and running them through her ginger hair.

"I don't know why we didn't wipe that base off the face of the planet when we abandoned it." Clint commented from within the rabble.

"How could you be so _stupid_?" Rose intoned, her voice laced with disbelief, "_Anyone_ could have hacked those systems!"

"**_HUSH_**!" Sherlock's voice echoed off the walls, and the back and forth of jumbled exclamations ceased; he opened his eyes again, focusing in on Jane, "Now…could this information be utilised as the Timelord intends?"

"I, I…I don't know, we couldn't, not yet-" Jane stuttered, her eyes moving rapidly, as if she were piecing together too much information for her mouth to keep up.

"If it can be imagined, then the Timelord can achieve it." It was Thor that broke the litany, his deep voice solemn and hopeless; Sherlock's eyes shifted to the blonde god, whose expression focused and sharpened as his attention finally caught the people in the room, eventually landing on the detective, "The people of Galiffrey were known for their aptitudes in both science and magic…if the Master had possession of SHIELD's scientific knowledge, then I have no doubt that he will be successful in wielding it."

Sherlock stepped back to rest his weight on his heels, nodding in understanding. He clasped his hands together under his chin, inwardly cursing the lack of room to pace, even as John moved past him towards the table again, brushing his hand over the detective's shoulder in a show of support. He needed a few moments to process with this added certainty. With the little hope they had had, there were options; with the certainty that the Master could, and very well might succeed, there were few.

"So the Master has a good chance of making a move against Asgard." Steve verified cautiously; he was eyeing the rest of the group, who were bristling at varying degrees. While Clint and Natasha were relatively calm, if not tense, Rose and Donna were at the other end of the scale, their chests heaving as they became more and more frustrated with the turn of events and lack of actions.

Thor nodded grimly.

"Once he has had his way with Earth, yes, getting to Asgard will be no hardship." He confirmed; his hand rubbed across his face agitatedly, "I am unsure as to how the armies of Asgard would hold against many creatures with the strength of Dr Banner."

"Well this officially throws any plan of action that I might have had." Fury sniped, turning away from the group to stare out at the darkened sky.

"We don't _need_ a plan!" Rose snapped; Sherlock paused in his thinking to watch her, the way that her face seemed to radiate fury and her eyes burned, "There's, what…ten of us here willing to fight, so let's fight!", her eyes fell for a moment as she visibly tried to think of what else would be of any use; her face lit up in victory for just a second as she announced, "and I bet I can convince Loki to help! A little bit of magic wouldn't go amiss now, would it?"

At this the Avengers' all looked away from each other, blatantly biting their tongues. Sherlock could see why; the man that he had spoken to in the hall wasn't one that made friends easily, that much was clear. Fury turned on his heel and glared around the room, as if just at the moment noticing who was missing.

"Now that you mention it, where the Hell _is_ Loki?" he asked, bewildered, and then turned back on his agents, "Somebody go and find Loki, and get him where I can _see him_!"

Meanwhile, Steve had taken the reigns again.

"Rose, I know you want the Doctor safe, but you saw what happens when we just barge in." he said calmly, his hand extended in a gesture of restraint; it was obvious how overwrought the soldier was, his whole presence screaming out exhaustion and overwhelmed, "I want that too, but right now I have no idea where to start."

"The beginning always helps." Clint chipped in from the side. Steve motioned for him to come forward, but Sherlock cut him off with an exclamation of realisation. The detective's hands extended and Steve's mouth clapped shut, as he made an almost twirling motion in his excitement.

This was brilliant, this was absolutely excellent. _A Challenge!_

"Oh! No, no, no…the beginning's the very last place we need to start!" Sherlock announced, letting out a hearty laugh.

"If you're just going to spout nonsense-" Donna snapped. John tripped to Sherlock's side placing a hand on his arm to pin him in one place and looking imploringly at Donna.

"Just hear him out, alright."

Sherlock jittered under John's hand (he needed to pace, he needed to move), but took the lack of speech and argument as his cue.

"We know the Master's plan, and we know that they've moved their base. That's the beginning, that and _how_ they're doing it. But that doesn't _matter_!" Sherlock insisted, refusing to feel disheartened by the confusion and dull expressions on the faces of everyone watching him, "We need to work from the end backwards! There's no point knowing why or how, what we need to do now is find the way to stop them from achieving what they have _told us_ they're going to do!"

Tony was the only one nodding with some kind of understanding.

"So you mean-"

"I mean that there are a handful of specific things you need to do, nothing more, nothing less!" Sherlock cut across him; there was no time for idle discussion, "First is to find out where they are now; with all your special technology that shouldn't be difficult. Secondly, the science; you need to know how to tackle the genetic manipulations and the interstellar travel on the basis that it is _going_ to happen. It would be better to prevent it, which will become less likely the longer it takes to find them," he glared at the SHIELD agents at their terminals, and with cursory glances at Fury, they leapt into action, "but if we can't do that , then you need a way to shut them down. Which brings me back to working from the end."

It was Natasha that spoke first; Sherlock didn't know whether she followed his ideas, but her face was set and she was shaking her head, walking across the room towards him.

"The Hulk can't be fought, believe me, I've been on the wrong end of his temper." She said, as if this shot down his plans. Sherlock growled irritably, striding past her; he was going to pace, he didn't care anymore.

"Because you've been doing it wrong and you're still not _listening_!" he tried very hard not to shout, "What do you need to cure a poison?" he asked the group at large.

"An antidote." Both Rose and John replied immediately; there was something so trained about the way they did it, as if both were used to the question and answer routine. They shared a look before Sherlock continued.

"Exactly! And to get the antidote you need the sum of the poison's parts, or at least an understanding of the poison's make-up." He emphasised, and to his monumental relief, it actually looked as if they were beginning to understand; the befuddled expressions had evaporated at least, "You have the data from the original DNA trials, you have the finished result in the form of Bruce, and don't try and tell me SHIELD didn't get hold of a blood sample at some point…work backwards, and you will have your weapon!"

"Like reverse engineering!" Tony exclaimed, and Sherlock turned the full power of his genuine grin on him.

"Yes! The same goes for this interdimensional bridge- if you've got the theory, and the Norse god at hand," Sherlock motioned towards Thor, who straightened up at the address, his face lighting up at the renewed hope, "it shouldn't be impossible for a brilliant scientist like you Miss Foster to achieve that capability yourself. Once you've done that, it's just a case of preventing another from being opened, or shutting it down if they beat you to it."

Jane starting shaking her head and her hands came up defensively.

"I…I'm nowhere close, and that could take years!" she insisted.

"But you're forgetting," Tony assured her, strolling over to swing an arm over her shoulder; he had certainly brightened up over the past few minutes, "You've got two other geniuses here in the form of little old me and Sherlock. That should cut the time by half at least."

"Thank you Tony." Sherlock nodded curtly towards the man before fixing Jane with an imploring gaze, "I have absolute faith in you Miss Foster, John has said that you're the most intelligent woman he's ever met."

John had said nothing of the sort, but was smart enough to keep his mouth shut, as Jane seemed to stiffen with resolve, and nodded firmly at Sherlock, and then over his shoulder at Steve. Fury swaggered back into the fray.

"So Captain, so we have any idea how we're doing this?"

Steve's jaw stuck out slightly as he nodded resolutely. Sherlock mused that it was almost possible to see the cogs turning in his mind.

"I reckon so. Miss Foster, if you can work on the science from on the Helicarrier, with Tony and Sherlock until they're needed elsewhere, and then on your own, that would be great." He looked to Jane, who simply nodded, "You don't look like you'd be much use on the battlefield anyway, so it'd be best if you made yourself useful out of the way." He explained, and then gestured for the door, "If you start now, you'll be ready quicker."

Jane agreed quickly, and stopped only to reach up and place a kiss on Thor's cheek before running lightly from the Bridge, grabbing the arm of an agent as she passed and reeling off a list of things that she would need.

Before Steve could continue, Donna broke in.

"You're not shunting me off into a corner, I want to help." She warned him. Steve glanced guiltily in her direction.

"As much as I'd like to do that, we're probably going to need you on the ground. I heard that you can calm the Hulk- Bruce, when he gets angry." he noted; Donna nodded uncertainly and he carried on, "In that case you come with us; the last thing we need if there's going to be lots of them is Bruce getting caught up."

"What about me?" Rose asked; she had calmed, but she was still on edge, her fingers curling and tensing around the rim of the table.

"Can you fight?" Steve retorted, watching for her response. She stood as tall as she could (which wasn't impressive at all really), and Sherlock had to admit that he admired the defiance in her expression.

"Just give me a big gun and I'll be fine." She remarked. Steve nodded in acceptance, and then looked to Fury momentarily. When there was no contradiction, he smiled at Rose.

"Good, then you're part of the back door team."

"I'm sorry, the what?" John interjected, his nose crinkled in confusion. Steve grimaced as he began to explain, making sure that everyone was listening.

"The way I see it, there's two approaches to this. There's the front door, the big confrontation; we'll need the big guns for that, the most resilient, which means me, Tony, Thor, Clint, and Natasha, and Bruce if we can get him on side in his state." Steve laid out his plan, his hands moving wildly; Sherlock could see now the military planner behind the otherwise dull façade, "Then there's the back door, the science. Sherlock's suggestions are top priority, we need to reverse the genetics and prevent the space travel, but that's not all. We need to infiltrate their base while the fight happens; all of their databases and their research needs to be destroyed, nothing should survive as anything we don't or won't already have shouldn't be had by anyone. If we can shut down their systems, their control hub, then they'll be powerless, and we might be able to retrieve Bruce and the Doctor depending on where they're being held; for that the less resilient of us, but no less useful, I think Sherlock, John, Rose…you can join the fight _only_ if that's been done and if it looks like we're winning."

"What about Loki?" Rose asked innocently, and Sherlock could see how despite her close relationship with the man, she was horrifyingly blind to the fact that he just didn't care about the Earth or its people at all. Hell, he was probably still swanning about the Helicarrier just because he could.

Steve didn't even blink in response to her question.

"I don't think he'll help, but…on the off chance that he cares enough about his home planet to want to help Asgard, then he should stay with you." He instructed, "Like I said, if your job is done, it would be _fantastic_ to have that kind of magical power on our side out on the battlefield, but until then, you three will need whatever protection you can get."

"Fine." Rose muttered petulantly.

The next few minutes were spent huddled around the meeting table, finalising and embellishing Steve's otherwise fine plan. Sherlock was confident that it could work, so the others went along with it. He had been warned severely by John that he was not to go looking for Moriarty, not to break from the group, or to hunt him down in any way; Moriarty would go down alongside the Master, and Sherlock was not to risk himself taking him on alone. It was only as the group began to disperse, and Tony and Thor prepared to head to the labs, and the others to prepare for when the next location was found, that Sherlock realised what had been niggling at the back of his head for hours.

"Hold on, where's Harkness?" he inquired, looking around the Bridge. He was met by a stony silence, and realised that everyone else was sharing guilty looks. They had obviously forgotten about him too; how that could have happened considering what Jack was like, made Sherlock's head spin.

"Shit!" Tony spat, slapping a hand to his forehead, "How the hell did we forget him?"

"That's what I'd like to know!" Fury yelled, completely ignoring the fact that he hadn't inquired about Jack's whereabouts at all.

"He split from the group to hack their computer systems," Steve recalled sheepishly, "to see if anything new had been logged that we could use."

"Do you think he's been captured too?" Rose asked, her tone laced with worry and her eyes wide and panicked.

"I don't know," Steve replied, with a shake of his head and a self-deprecating shrug, "if he has, he'll be with the others, if not…"

"We won't know until we get to work." Fury answered the unspoken question. Tony, with a sad shrug of his shoulders, clapped Thor around the arm and headed from the Bridge towards the laboratories. Natasha and Clint wandered off together, and Sherlock resisted the pull of John at his arm long enough to hear the alert begin to wail at one of the computer terminals.

In the dark, cramped corner of a rumbling, jolting truck, Captain Jack Harkness was just about able to wrap the arm on which his vortex manipulator was strapped, back around his huddled legs. As soon as SHIELD received that message, they'd be able to track him straight to the Master's next base. Sure, Jack had been dismayed to see the Helicarrier leave the area without him, following the clamour from the rest of the base, but he wasn't stupid enough to break his cover and chase after it. No, the guards hadn't even thought to check the shelter of their IT rooms. That had left him with the opportunity to sneak about a bit, discover that not only was Dr Banner in their hands, but also the Doctor. No one knew he was there; doubtless, the Master assumed that the Avengers had taken him with them. Well, more fool him. If no one knew he was there, no one would notice Captain Jack Harkness scuttling across the icy ground in his dark coat, or clambering into the back of a cargo truck as it pulled away from the arctic base for the last time.

* * *

**Another long one, to make up for the last interlude. **

**Is it ****_really_**** obvious that I completely forgot about Jack and had to work around that. It's not my fault, the characters forgot him too. )=**


	21. Lying in Wait

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the vague plot**

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Of course they discovered him. There was no realistic way that they wouldn't have. Jack had known that the moment he had got in the back of the truck. The black clothed minions, he could only think of them as such (they can't have been earning enough to be called employees) may have been dragging him forcibly through the greying corridors of what could only be an abandoned office complex, or warehouse, or a combination, but that didn't matter.

It didn't matter that he had been caught; the coordinates had been sent to SHIELD, and they'd come. He didn't know how many were left, but hopefully they'd know what to do. And in the meantime, it wasn't like they could kill him.

He actually hoped that the Master would appear, so that he could give him a piece of his mind. Spending a year chained up, whether it happened or not, and then having the man die before he could pay his _thanks_ just wasn't fair.

The doors to each room that the guards dragged him past were securely shut; Jack wondered whether it was worth making a run for it, so that he could see inside, get some more info for the others. If the Master had technology that they weren't equipped to deal with, then they were all in trouble.

Come to think of it, they were all in trouble anyway. He had managed to take a peek at the hidden files on the Arctic database, and there were no words to describe how terribly, not even a little bit good they were. He'd only gotten a look at some genetic files, some that looked like particle physics…not enough time to understand what was being planned, but just enough to know that it would affect everyone. Not just the group of people gathered elsewhere, but _everyone_.

He was jolted from his ponderings as the two guards threw him bodily through an open door, leaving him sprawled on the carpet as they locked him in. Looking up and around, Jack was floored slightly by the room; it was too…_normal_.

There were shelves and filing cabinets, all of which were stacked with books and personal affects, although there were no pictures, the carpet was pristine apart from the path treaded from the door to behind the standard desk in the centre, on which lay papers and an open laptop, and behind which sat the smug face from the CCTV and the file, watching him with a bored expression.

Jack scrambled to his feet and glared at the man, who merely raised an eyebrow in amusement.

"You're Moriarty?" he demanded, tensing as the man at the desk sat back, lacing his fingers together in front of him.

"And you're Captain Jack Harkness." Moriarty replied; he pulled and quashed the words, his lilt making them sound like he were experimenting and taunting at the same time. It set Jack's teeth on edge, "Head of Torchwood, the man who can't die…I'm glad you stayed."

"What?" Jack shot back cautiously; there was something about the man, something about the looseness of his stance, with the stiffness of his face, or the vacantness in his eyes that seemed to scream out at him…or the facsimile of a vicious grin that adorned his lips, that made him want to back away. No monster had had that effect.

"I'm glad you stayed. The 'Master', or Harold as I've been calling him – _the Master_, it's a powerful name, but so _infantile_, I feel sick just saying it, Harold Saxon was a decent disguise though, I actually considered allying with him when I was alive – but anyway, he thinks you're funny, said you're fun to kill…but I see deeper." Moriarty's voice vacillated as talked, and his eyes pinned Jack into place, making him listen without interruption, despite the sick churning in his stomach, "I…I think you could be useful. Your…_abnormality_ could be useful."

"Abnormality?" Jack repeated slowly, "I'd have thought you of all people would appreciate the whole reincarnation gig."

"NO!" Moriarty snapped; it was like a switch, one moment pleasant, the next murderous, then slipping straight back to creepy calm, "My resurrection was perfect, I was brought back to life, _one_ life – _you_ are _abnormal_, suspended in your own purgatory…I have control, I can leave whenever I want."

Jack didn't know what to say. This man was insane, that much he could tell, but there was little else other than the need to run away very quickly. And good luck with that, with guards probably stood outside the door. But…seeing as he was in the talking mood.

"Where's Lucinda?" Jack asked quickly, as it looked as if the psychopath was about to continue. Moriarty rolled his eyes in frustration, slamming his hands onto the desk, sending papers scattered to the floor.

"The _amount_ of times I've been asked that!" he hissed furiously, and then as if he were no more than reporting a lost toy, or a chess victory, "She was dull, and no use to anyone, so we had her killed."

"She's _dead_?" Jack surged forward, but Moriarty raised his hands and shook his head, glaring at him like a wronged school teacher.

"You were coming _anyway!"_ he justified, and Jack stumbled back as if burned, "The others were useful, fun to play with; they're other halves might have just killed us rather than sit around talking. _You_ on the other hand, aren't the run in and kill type."

Jack shook his head desperately, and brought his clenched fist to his mouth. This was wrong, this was all wrong, and all his fault. As he did this, Moriarty reached across his desk and pressed a button on the laptop.

"I've just called the guards, they're going to go and put you somewhere." He informed him as he settled comfortably in his chair.

"And then what?" Jack asked bitterly. There was no way to fight this, but he could know what was going on if someone came for him.

Moriarty grinned, pleased with himself.

"Like I said, I see deeper. I assume that when you were scouring our databases, you saw the genetic files, and the experimental results?" he inquired pleasantly; Jack nodded guardedly, and Moriarty hummed under his breath, "Well…wouldn't it be _grand_ if my army could not only be large and powerful, with whatever Timelord aspects that Harold adds…but also _immortal_?"

That was definitely bad. Jack tried to rush forwards, to make a grab at Moriarty, but at that moment the door swung open with a bang, hitting the wall behind it, and two armed guards pinned his arms behind his back.

"_No_, you can't do that!" Jack shouted as they dragged him into the corridor, "Just _think_ about what you're doing!"

There were sounds, garbled, but definitely there- and colours…it didn't take Bruce's mind long to work out that he was waking up. Painfully at that. This wasn't the usual muffled shuffling towards the light, and then pitch into stark reality; no, this was like forcing himself through clotted soil, digging the wrong way to reach the surface.

The last thing that he remembered was…that Master man, the Timelord.

That was it! There had been talk of _him_, talk of the Hulk…they were surrounded. The others- it was a small space…the others could handle it though…unless the Other Guy had panicked, felt too closed in. _If he'd hurt them…_

Bruce heard Tony's voice in his head, snarking and rolling his eyes (although he was pretty sure, as foggy as his mind was, that it wasn't real).

_'Honestly Banner, if you wake up in a strange place, the _last_ thing you need to worry about is everyone else…look at it logically! Would the Hulk have taken a nap if there were people to smash?'_

It wasn't real, but it was enough to ground him. More or less. Everything was still blurry; the sounds, the sights…he shifted as much as he could, but found that wasn't very far. Every inch of his flesh felt numb and heavy, and the movement had his head tingle…_kind of like the interference on those old TVs_, he thought unhelpfully.

He was detachedly aware that his thoughts weren't coming as quickly as they should. Normally he'd just hop up and get out of wherever the Hulk had landed him as quickly as possible…but moving seemed…unimportant, like a thought that slipped away the moment it took root.

That was when he noticed; arms…they were the easiest to use, he should move them about. Ah! Why everything was so blurry. He supposed it wasn't so bad, things were beginning to sharpen up…and then slip back into a blur.

_Come on Genius, stay on track!_ Donna scolded fondly…except she was with Tony; not real. If she were, he'd have heard it in his ears, not his head. That thought alone was enough to have Bruce inwardly asking himself what the hell the Other Guy had hit his head on before he passed out.

Or…now that he thought about it, now that the effects of sleep were wearing off…it didn't feel like sleep grogginess. Everything was too sluggish…the movements, the train of thought…feeling. Bruce tried to swipe at his eyes, to wake himself up; he couldn't. His arms jammed at an awkward angle…but there was no pain, just a sort of…uncomfortable pressure.

It was odd, the way that the sudden caution brought a flash of alertness. It faded quickly, and Bruce's head lolled more than turned to look down at his hands. Down…more sort of along…again, that flare of panic. He tried pulling his arms frantically, rocking restrictedly side to side on the…the sheets were soft…they must have been sheets (it felt soft beneath him- but he still couldn't see more than blurry masses, although they were beginning to look plural, rather than a single messy blob).

His arms were tied down. He couldn't tell what with…it could have been steel rope or leather for all the dull feeling in his limbs revealed. It was cold…but his head was hot, like something was roasting just behind his eyes. Moving at all felt like trying to lug clay limbs about…but his arms, his legs were the clay, and he was feeling that from _inside_ them.

Logical! Bruce told himself to be logical…don't panic, that wouldn't do anyone any good. He just needed to control his heart rate…but…for all the worry, he wasn't even breathing heavily. It was just sort of, stilted…like his body had been turned to…no more similes…Donna would have a field day.

He hoped she was safe; that detective…Sherlock…yes, that was it…he and Natasha weren't likely to put themselves back in danger to help, so Donna should be alright.

He wasn't though. Bruce may have been mentally compromised, but he was still running well enough to know that …who tied him down? Somebody did…but they must know about the Hulk…trapping him would be stupid…Of course! They could sedate him.

That only made the panic turn to fear. Bruce thought that he should probably be glad for the burst of ice down his centre…that was some feeling at least…but it was impossible to sedate him. If you could prevent his heart rate from rising, then the Other Guy wasn't an issue…but no sedative on Earth could do that.

Except…dread…that was what he was feeling…he didn't know whose voice had just provided that insight.

That Master wasn't from Earth…science may say no, but after the last few years, Bruce had to admit that 'science' didn't stop anything from happening really.

His head rolled back onto the bed. Oh…definitely a bed. He still felt slow (_was it possible to _feel_ slow)_, but the cacophony of thoughts were getting clearer…placing themselves in neater rows. Information poured a little steadier through his senses.

It wasn't just his arms that were pinned down…yes, his legs were too, he thought as he tried to bend them. The restraints were a hard juxtaposition to the soft sheets- good, it kept him alert…there would be no more falling asleep.

But…if the Master had him…if he was tied down…then they had succeeded, him and that Irish man. The others had failed.

He hoped they were alright. The thought of Tony, or Steve and Thor…they were a laugh really…that was an awful thought, if they had failed…but Donna would have gotten way. There were ways out arranged…

They all got out, Bruce told himself firmly. Donna had been positively reinforcing optimism…she'd laugh if she heard him think that.

The room was very dark…but everything else was light. Greyish…a lot of white…that was what he had to do. _Work out where you are_. Was that Tony or Steve's voice? Tony had taken up a habit of parroting some of Steve's finer points…nobody tell him. It was funny.

No…back on track. Bruce couldn't remember ever having been sedated this badly before…they should absolutely fire whoever directs hospital dramas…no coma patient ever wakes up that quickly. He'd tell them himself…if he did big cities…which he didn't.

"Have you got your bearings yet, or would you like a hand?" a cheerful voice cut through Bruce's garbled thought processes, bringing the beginning of an internal argument over focus to a grinding halt.

Up until then, the sounds around him had just sounded like a single stream of white-noise, but with something solid to centre on, Bruce could just distinguish heavy breathing…and clicking? Beeping? He wasn't sure. He recognised the voice though.

He let his head drop to the side…so his captors had allowed him a pillow? That was awfully pleasant of them.

Across the room…it was still dark, but everything looked so _clean_, like every other thing was made of steel. _Oh_, it occurred to Bruce as he sought the source of the voice, _it's kind of like a…hospital…_ No, the walls were wrong…it was all wrong.

"Bruce?"

Bruce's eyes fixed on the man across the room. The Doctor; why would he be here? Was he captured too? That didn't bode well for everyone else. Or…no, the Doctor had seemed beyond horrified by the Master's plan…he wouldn't…

With more than a little confusion, he observed how the Doctor was sat stiffly, as if pinned to his chair. He couldn't quite see, but…he must have been strapped down as well (so definitely not in cahoots with the bad guys)…and…

"Bruce?" the Doctor sounded concerned, worried, "Bruce do you know what's happening?"

Bruce tried to shake his head, but ended up merely rubbing the back of his skull further into the pillow.

"Wh-ur-ess-" he mumbled, and then hearing the noise that came out of his mouth, tried again, taking extra care to force his lips to move in the right way, "Yes…uh, yes 'nd… no…"

"Okay, okay, don't try to speak," the Doctor instructed; Bruce thought he sounded tired, and his voice was hoarse, as if he'd been shouting, or talking for hours, "Just…try working your jaw a bit, get the blood flowing…and move your fingers and toes as much as you can."

Bruce closed his eyes, squeezing them tightly before opening them again; he tried not to flinch at the light flooding in, which stung his retinas. Come to think of it, he couldn't be sure if he _had _flinched or not.

Looking at the Doctor, now definitely a person shape, with some actual features, it was obvious that he had been there for hours. His tweed coat was absent, as was his bow-tie, and his cream shirt was crumpled and pulled partially open, revealing not only a small expanse of chest, but also slowly reddening patches. His arms were fastened to the arms of the high-backed chair that matched the rest of the room's medical feel. The playful interest in the case was absent from his face, which now just looked tired and drawn, the black bags under his eyes the least of Bruce's worries.

It was as if the Doctor could follow his train of thought, (not something that Bruce even wanted to consider), as the moment that his somewhat bleary examination of his surroundings came to a stop, he began talking again, reeling off information with a paced and knowledgeable lilt to his tone.

"This isn't a hospital, although it's kitted out like one. The Master and Moriarty have clearly been networking far longer than I thought, as once they removed us from the Arctic base we were shipped directly to this place here, in London." He explained, and it took all Bruce's effort to keep track of the words, so much so that he let his eyelids droop again, so as to cut out the excess visual information, "A silly idea really, what with all those people _and_ all the secret organisations near here; UNIT and Torchwood are just the beginning, but Moriarty must have a nostalgic streak." The Doctor paused there, and Bruce could just about imagine him shrugging non-committedly, "There are abandoned warehouses, all with basements, all along the Thames, and elsewhere in London, so I reckon that's where we are. No doubt Moriarty's had his men picking up resources for months now – they've raided at least one hospital, two science labs, and a military compound or three. It'll be him and not the Master that's done that; the Master's got the imagination and the genius, but he's never been one for the technical side of things…that's always been his downfall, he's too self-centred, forgets that there are other people out there that might want to stop him…he's not got that problem anymore."

Bruce soaked this in; it was terrifying really, what these men were capable of (and even more worrying was the way that the Doctor laid it out like the facts of life). But that wasn't important really; looking back wouldn't help…it was the future that was truly frightening. But first…

"D-Donna…" he stuttered; the Doctor had been right, speech was getting easier, but it still wasn't good, what with his brain functioning much like a water-mill running on treacle, "Arr-Are they…did they ge-t out?"

The silence that that was met with had Bruce opening his eyes yet again. To his surprise the Doctor was smiling mutedly at the ground, but he glanced up hastily, pinning a taut grin onto his face.

"Oh yes, they all got out all right. They're perfectly fine." He assured Bruce; the brittleness of that statement, along with the constant weight on his wrists, did not set Bruce's mind at ease. The Doctor, all-knowing as he was, must have seen that too, as his smile turned bitter, self-deprecating, "I'm sorry Bruce, but that doesn't mean they'll stay that way."

Bruce understood immediately; it was blaringly obvious that their plan, designed to save the abducted and then have everyone safe and sound had failed miserably. In fact, knowing that it was a trap didn't make it any more difficult for them to fall straight into it. The Master had never wanted Donna, or any of the others, save to get them out of the way; no, he had wanted _him_.

Years hidden away, and now all of his efforts, all of his attempts to keep everyone else safe had blown up in his face. He'd let his guard down…well done collective effort of Tony and Donna! No matter how much he hated himself for thinking it, Bruce couldn't mute the voice that said he should never have let them talk him into anything.

Everything came down to him.

"What...w-what have they done t-to me?" he forced out. At this the Doctor looked truly guilty.

"It's a sedative, anaesthetic type substance, it slows your heart rate and keeps you calm and, well…un-Hulked. They wouldn't have been able to do anything with your DNA if you smashed them within seconds." He said with a wry quirk of the lips; Bruce thought he looked sad.

"H-how did they…how'd they do that in the first place?" Bruce pushed, watching for the Doctor's reaction. The rest of the world may have been a swimming mess, but the man had answers, so was to be grasped like a lifeline. It was like a tangible shadow passed over the Timelord's face.

"That would be my fault." He answered, and Bruce was sure in that moment that, yes, it was self-loathing he had heard before, "They wouldn't have been able to get close to you, but…you were out of control, becoming a danger to yourself…so I used my sonic screwdriver, one of the more refined settings, to interfere with your brainwaves just a little, just enough to put you to sleep…and knocked you out long enough for them to sedate you and get their plans underway."

Bruce took a moment to digest that. The cold rush of acceptance, that daunting prickle that worked under his skin settled comfortably where it hadn't been welcome for some time.

"So…what you're saying is that we're all doomed." He elucidated, meeting the Doctor's gaze, "They've got access to my DNA, my genetic code-"

"Don't forget that the Master won't be shy when it comes to cutting me open and using _my_ genetic code." The Doctor interjected; Bruce thought that it might have been an attempt at injecting humour into the situation, but it didn't work.

"So we're doubly doomed. They'll pulverise the Earth, and then destroy Asgard, and then move on from there." He rasped, shaking his head as best as he could at the Doctor's disgruntled huff, "Don't look like that, if I could fight back I would, but there's no hope if they've already started the process."

The Doctor pursed his lips, and then raised himself to his full height, while still strapped to the steel chair; his expression was defiant, and if Bruce wasn't mistaken, there was a smirk pulling at his cheeks and a burning that hadn't been in his miserable eyes until then.

"Don't say that. There's always hope, no matter how desperate things get." He said proudly, and if nothing else, it was obvious that _he _believed it, "The rest of the Avengers are still out there, all super-powered up, if I'm right, they're being helped by the smartest man in London and his blogger, and though that may not sound like much, I know that when you add that many unstoppable forces together, they're going to make some headway." His eyes glazed over, as if he were remembering events gone by, "and in all my years, all my lives, there have never been two women that I have trusted, and feared, more than Rose Tyler and Donna Noble -" at this his eyes flew upwards, and bored into Bruce's, making his stubborn hopelessness stutter, "and you've got _me_. I promise you, Bruce Banner, that no matter how far this scheme goes, how horrific the things you might see, I will get you out alive, and then I'll save everyone else on this planet, and the next. The Master is my responsibility, and I _will_ put this right!"

* * *

**...And that's it for now. Hopefully things are pulling together.**

**I do like writing Moriarty, he's such a creeper. And let me tell you, you never know how hard it'll be to write someone drugged to the nines until you have to write a genius that is drugged and sluggish**

**Updates might be a bit sporadic, as I'm back in school on Tuesday, but I'll try to be as on time as usual.**


	22. Scientific Breakthroughs!

**Disclaimer: I still don't own anything here**

* * *

Loki didn't even fight as the two agents lowered their weapons and instead took a tight grip on his upper arms, dragging him forcefully. He _did_ snarl petulantly down at them; this was no way for royalty, (and he _was_ still royalty) to be treated, let alone by faceless men that were no more than grunt-workers for an already measly organisation. But he didn't fight. It wasn't as if he had better places to be, and if nothing else, this strong and silent reaction to his wandering proved that he was bothering Fury.

"I do not require your assistance." Loki hissed at the stony faced man on his right, "Remove your hands from me at once."

This only made both men tighten their grip, and Loki was pushed aggressively forward, making him lurch ahead of them as they rounded a corner.

"What d'you think you're doin'?" a sharp, all too recognisable twang called. A single glance as he regained his posture informed Loki that Rose was rapidly approaching, her jaw set in frustration. He was a little surprised to see that she was accompanied by that…man in the knitted garments that had clung to the detective; Sherlock! That man's name had been Sherlock, though Loki wasn't sure of this companion.

"We're returning the prisoner to Director Fury." One of the agents answered. Loki immediately hated how bored he sounded. Rose shook her head defiantly, and surged forward to grasp Loki's arm, yanking it from the agent. Loki smirked at the man, making no secret of the pleasure that Rose's possessiveness brought.

"I mean pushing him around like that!" she snapped, batting away the advances of the guard. The knitted man stayed warily to the side, and Loki was only partially aware of how his eyes followed his every move; watching Rose, ferocious as she was, was far more satisfying. With Pete's World, as she had been calling it, being at peace, it was only on rare occasions that he truly saw her angry at anyone that wasn't himself…and what a treat it was.

"Ma'am, we have orders." The other agent justified himself. With only minor jostling, Loki found himself being held in place by Rose's hands on both of his arms, while she glared at the agents. He was surprised and impressed at how she managed to do that, seeing as he was nearly a foot taller than her, and blocking the space between them.

"Surely you've heard of the laws regarding prisoner treatment." The woollen man interjected. He still hadn't neared, and seemed to hate his own words, as if they were distasteful.

The agents shared a look, and Loki watched the group around him with detached bemusement, aware that it was written across his face. There was nothing more entertaining than watching others debate, and there was something wonderful about the sheer amount of mixed feelings that he seemed to produce in Rose's most recent companion, who at that moment was tapping his foot with what could only have been supressed rage.

"Just go and tell Fury that I've got my eye on him." Rose was instructing the agents. Her brown eyes was wide with determination, and her grip on Loki's arms was vacillating as her fingers squeezed nervously. The agents looked as if to argue, but the knitted man stopped them before they were able.

"It's alright, I've got a gun." He assured them, making sure to meet Loki's eyes pointedly; definitely one of Earth's soldiers then, and one that _really_ wasn't pleased with him. And that was just typical, Loki fought not to roll his eyes, Rose had gone and befriended a sanctimonious pest, "I have no qualms about shooting him if he gets out of line."

Well that was just charming.

The agents, with much grumbling, eventually departed, leaving Loki alone with the pair. If he were sentimental, he'd say that the air had grown a bit stagnant; if he were still devoted to the poetry of the spoken word, as he had been when he were young, he would announce that the tension between the three, the animosity and the frustration, was like the collective holding of breath as a small town awaited the lightning strike and the thundering hand of a storm. Then again, that didn't stop him thinking it with a restrained smirk.

Rose was busy tutting away at the shackles about his wrists; her hands skirted over Loki's bare wrists, and she threw him a dissatisfied frown.

"You know, if you'd just behave yourself for five minutes, they wouldn't need to chain you up." She informed him, and then in direct opposition to her otherwise caring behaviour, hooked her arm through his and began pulling him in the direction he had just come. The knitted soldier followed, visibly gritting his teeth.

Loki turned his attention back to Rose; he had missed playing with her.

"You don't like me in chains?" he teased, never taking his eyes off of her face. She closed her eyes, her expression tensing as if she were either biting back a retort or a smile; her cheeks did go a wonderful shade of red. Instead of replying, she addressed the other man.

"Thanks for sticking up for me John." She said pleasantly, peering around Loki to smile at the man. Before he could respond, Loki interrupted, glancing down at the soldier, his expression the epitome of curiosity.

"John? Is that what I should be calling you?"

"It's Doctor Watson." John snapped, his chest heaving momentarily before his hand darted upwards to squeeze the bridge of his nose, "Just…I'm not here to deal with troublemakers."

"Are you still sore that I tried to lead an army against your planet?" Loki mock whispered; he couldn't help it really. There was a certain type of person that just couldn't seem to stop themselves from being so _easily_ riled up.

John's sigh changed half-way through into a growl, and he nearly ground to a halt as he tried to turn to address the god.

"You're lucky I haven't just shot you for the good of-"

"Boys!" Rose raised her voice and the two of them fell silent as she extracted herself from Loki and whirled around to face them down, "Can you focus on the whole stopping the world from ending gig."

"Sorry." John muttered, folding his arms across his chest and looking sheepishly about the empty hall.

"And for what is it that you require my presence?" Loki grudgingly inquired; it was true that he wanted to know what was happening, he was naturally inquisitive, something that had driven his mother to despair when he and Thor were children. However, he had spent centuries perfecting his air of indifference, and it would be unwise to seem like he was interested in the actions of 'Earth's Mightiest Heroes'.

A strange expression flittered across Rose's face before she turned on her heel and began striding away from them. Loki felt John's hand push roughly at the small of his back and, not without a sharp glare and snarl in the doctor's direction, followed.

"I've said that you'll help them with their Bifrost thing." Rose explained hastily; with a familiar pang Loki realised why she was deliberately refusing to meet his eyes. She knew he wouldn't agree to this; and why should he?

"I will do no such thing." He retorted resolutely, turning his nose up. Rose threw a glance over her shoulder, but didn't stop walking.

"You'll help, or you'll be stuck on a planet where everyone is dying." She said coldly, "Including you."

Neither Rose nor John said anything after that, and Loki could only grimace at whoever made eye contact with him as he was escorted towards one of the laboratories.

He supposed that he might as well cooperate for now; dying on Earth wasn't something he was particularly inclined towards.

To say that Loki was unimpressed with the gathering in the laboratory was an understatement.

On one side of the room, Tony Stark and Jane Foster were huddled over various holographic screens, while listening to Thor try and explain, in his own abstract way, how the Bifrost worked. The swell of affection that the exaggerated arm movements, and stuttering pauses brought was immediately, and deliberately swallowed by frustration, as Loki told himself that the idiot didn't even know how it worked in reality, and was just saying _things_. He wished that he could hate Thor, the feeling was so real, so visceral, but the voice in the back of his head saying that 'everything's good now', 'Thor's there', 'isn't he such a lovable fool' was hard to silence. It was like a knee-jerk reaction; the very thought of such made the hatred ever more present.

On the other side of the room, Sherlock was bent over what looked like most of a chemical lab, computers whirring around him, plastic glasses pushed high on his nose. Loki recognised a lot of the equipment from the science supplies his minions had stolen the last time he had been on this Earth.

As Rose darted over to join his brother's entourage, Loki observed with mild curiosity as John strolled across the laboratory to join Sherlock; loathe as he was to admit it, the friendship between the two men, who were on first glance monumentally different, did pique his interest.

"I thought you were helping them." John remarked, gesturing to the others as he joined the detective and pulled up a chair to peer at the various samples and analytics flitting about him.

Sherlock didn't even look up at his friend when he replied, instead reaching hastily for another glass beaker and a small pipe, and continuing to so intricate things underneath a large microscope. His entire being was one of intense focus, the kind that drew people in. Loki chose to remain a few feet away, watching, analysing the raw intelligence that radiated from the work station.

"Physics was never my area John, though I do understand it." Sherlock said swiftly, without an excess of emotion, merely a flare of arrogance, "While they take care of that, I'm working on the biological and chemical part of the plan." He muttered; the sample that he was examining was thrown across the lab, shattering on the floor as another algorithm was pulled up and more glass containers were mixed and swapped and stacked, "I've been testing the effects of Bruce's DNA when spliced with that of a healthy human's in the manner that I expect Moriarty to, if he's still working with any kind of logic, and I'm close to finding a way to reverse it-TONY!"

The switch from cool and focused to shouting over his shoulder was smooth, and even as Tony looked up in shock, and made his way across the room, sourly telling Loki that he 'wanted a word' as he passed, Sherlock was back to work, his face scrunching disdainfully at whatever he was looking at.

John shifted his seat closer to Sherlock's side to allow Tony room to squeeze behind them and peer over their shoulders.

"What d'you need?" Tony asked quietly; for once the sarcastic humour was absent, and Loki wasn't sure if he was pleased at that development, or worried that it foreshadowed greater danger. He glanced towards Thor and Rose, who were motioning for him to join them, but rejected their requests with an abrupt shake of his head.

"But what if the experiments _have_ gone ahead?" John was asking when Loki turned back to the trio; the man, he noticed, still wore his disbelieving put-upon expression like a badge of honour, "How are you going to get this to however many people without getting too close?"

"That's something else you can help me with Tony." Sherlock muttered; his entire conversation seemed to take a backseat compared to his work, "If I can make this into a respiratory drug, is there a way we could distribute it over a whole city?"

"Of course we can." Tony replied, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, and a renewed excitement loosening his limbs, "We can do it the same way they put out forest fires-fill a few jets up with whatever you're making and they can release it from a height."

"So what you're saying is if we don't get into their hide-out fast enough to stop the experiments from taking place, then we can reverse it by gassing them?" John verified, looking between the two geniuses, his eyebrows knitting together.

"So long as SHIELD is quick in replicating my formula." Sherlock remarked confidently.

"Who are these people that the Timelord wishes to mutate?" Loki inquired; it wasn't until the three men were looking bewilderedly back at him, that he realised that he hadn't been a part of the conversation, nor should he be trying to be. With a deliberately self-deprecating smile, he righted any misconception. "Mere curiosity, you understand."

Both Tony and Sherlock looked pointedly at John before turning back to the chemicals, Tony occasionally pointing something out and sticking his hands in the way. John sighed and grudgingly made eye contact.

"That's what Rose and I have been doing." He explained, tilting his head towards the two blondes across the lab, "Scanning the news and government sites. Turns out that across England and Wales there've been loads of disappearances in recent months, but they haven't been called up because it's all students who never call home, or the homeless, and no one really notices. There've been four times as many in London in the last month, all homeless people under sixty."

"So they are using the useless serfs of your society." Loki remarked, nodding to show that he understood perfectly.

John's expression turned sour and he straightened defensively in his chair.

"Hey! I don't know how things are where _you_ come from, but just because someone's worse off _here_, doesn't make them…peasants, or…useless!" he argued; this earned a sideways glance from Sherlock and a loud '_SHHH_', but Loki scoffed haughtily.

"Where _I_ come from, people like _you_ would know how to behave when talking to their superior." He sneered. John opened his mouth, but to his disappointment Loki didn't get to hear what the man would have said, as Thor called out wearily from across the room.

"Loki…do not cause trouble, this is not the time."

Loki turned his back on his brother completely.

John had swivelled back around in his chair, and was listening to Sherlock and Tony's discussion. The detective had leant back, his hands steepeling in thought as Tony leant across him to jab at the analytics projected around them.

"But Banner's been working on this for years and never gotten anywhere," Tony stressed, gesturing emphatically at a new set of readings, "What makes you sure that this is going to reverse the effects of the genetic manipulation?"

Sherlock smirked as he looked up at Tony; Loki was almost glad that he wasn't the only one taking unnecessary joy from the situation. If Rose felt the need to scold him, he would just direct her straight towards the detective.

"Because the way Bruce has been going about things is the _wrong _approach for now." Sherlock explained, and John briefly cut across him to criticise his cryptic response, "Look at it this way. When Moriarty and the Master splice this DNA with the normal human DNA that they have, the 'Hulk Gene' will act as an invader, like a virus. It stands to reason then, that like a virus, it can be fought with antibodies; I have used Bruce's DNA, extrapolated it, and found a particular strain of enzymes that can be added to the bloodstream that when combined with human anti-bodies, which will contain and reverse, and in time kill the 'Hulk Gene'."

"Like a vaccine." Tony breathed, and then looked concerned, his forehead crinkling, "But if it was in his DNA already, why hasn't Banner cured himself already?"

"Because it wouldn't work." Sherlock responded, and it seemed as if he were actually sad for a moment, the way his face softened, and he didn't elaborate at all.

"What do you mean?" Tony asked; his pallor had if possible, paled even more, and his whole being had slumped. It was only then that Loki realised how hopeful Stark had been only moments before. It was strange, how loyal he was to the monster.

Sherlock's hands dropped, the tips of his fingers dragging down his lips as they fell; he swallowed awkwardly before speaking careless, measuring his words.

"To do these tests, I examined Bruce's DNA, and then _my_ DNA with the 'Hulk Gene' added. The end result is not the same, which is why these mutated people could be saved, but Bruce cannot." He clarified, keeping his eyes down; Tony didn't say anything, but waited for Sherlock to continue, "When the genes are _added_, they exist much like a virus, _on top of_ the normal human DNA. With Bruce…he has been like that from _birth_, whether it was active or not– the 'Hulk Gene' isn't _added_ to his DNA, it's a _part _of his genetic make-up. To take away the Hulk, would be to take away a part of him. It can't be done."

There was no response. Tony had closed his eyes and was running a hand over his face, slumped miserably over the desk as he was. It sounded as if he were muttering something, something about a promise of some sort, but Loki couldn't make it out, and neither Sherlock nor John looked as if they were ready to disturb him. They were probably afraid of hurting his feelings; more likely that the detective didn't know how to deal with the situation emotionally.

"How will you avoid killing _your_ beast amongst the others that you…gas?" Loki asked into the frigid silence. Tony looked up in disbelief, shaking his head, his mouth opening and closing.

"We'll need to find some way to remove him from the area." Sherlock answered plainly; so far, he was the only one who had willingly met Loki's eyes and not been blatantly filled with dislike, "I'm sure one of the larger members of this 'team' will manage that." He nodded towards Thor.

Loki nodded in understanding. Their plans were a shambles at best, but they were pulling together far better than they had when facing _him_.

Tony stood up straight and shook himself imperceptibly, his face taking on a cold sort of half-smile, and he projected false cheer.

"Well, that's all good. You get on the gas, have SHIELD replicating it." He patted Sherlock's shoulder as he squeezed out of the work space, "I'll get on the dispersal jets." Tony clapped his hands together in a 'done' motion and then turned his attention to Loki, "_You_, get over here and help us with this."

For his small stature, Stark packed some force as he gave Loki a push from behind. Fighting the temptation to swat him around the back of the head as he skirted around him, Loki grudgingly followed Tony to join Thor, Rose, and Jane around a gathering of holographic screens and piles of scrap metal and wires.

He wasn't sure why Rose bothered; she knew nothing of science really, only vague theories about the universe that had no real grounding, and this much was clear as she rested her weight on one of the many desks and watched, her hand under her chin, as Thor and Jane discussed intergalactic travel.

Thor greeted him with a wan smile, his eyes lighting up as he extended his arm and swept Loki into the group to stand beside him. Loki brushed off his brother's arm but didn't move away, lest he end up between Tony and Jane.

"Brother! I need you to verify for Jane what I have told her about the Bifrost and the way that it functions." Thor instructed him, waving a hand at one of the fuller screens.

"Why would I do that?" Loki sniped, although he couldn't stop his eyes being drawn to the data before him. Loathe as he was to admit it, Thor had covered most of the necessary points, although not thoroughly, or with any true understanding as to how they would facilitate interstellar travel.

"Because of all of Asgard's scholars, you are the most knowledgeable in the passageways of Yggdrasil." Thor replied sternly, moving himself so that he was looking Loki directly in the eyes, and his brother could not escape, "And because if you do not, we may lose our home and those we love."

Loki refused to dignify that with a response; he couldn't have come up with one if he had tried, and the mournful way that Rose was watching him did not help.

"So…" Jane, Thor's annoying and perky woman was watching him warily, a strained smile stretching her cheeks and making Loki want to strangle her a little bit; relentless cheeriness was as bad as stupidity, "It's all here," she pointed at the information that Loki had already examined, "I just wanted to check that this was all correct…maybe get some more exact information to work with, because this is _great_, but it's still theoretical…I don't know how I'd get it working – or use it to close another portal…"

"Spinning metal…speed…and power?" Loki read off some of the main points on the screens, drawling sardonically and meeting Thor's eyes with a smirk; it was nice for a moment, mocking him as they were wont to do, with Thor looking down guiltily.

"That is what the Bifrost is." Thor defended himself, taking a moment to glare at Tony as a snort emanated from the scientist, "I _have_ spent some time with Heimdall since the Bridge was destroyed, to understand the rebuilding process."

"As a good king should." Loki mocked and leaned in to touch the screen in front of him, only to have Thor grunt (graceful as always) and Tony swat his shackled hand away.

"The Doctor said something similar when he was here." Tony corroborated with Thor, messing with the holograms himself, "Something about spinning metal space fish that made portals." Then when he caught sight of Loki's scepticism, "You were asleep on the table."

"I wouldn't put it past the Doctor to have seen that." Rose mused, "I mean, that sounds entirely plausible compared to some things I've seen with 'im."

"You!" Tony exclaimed suddenly, pointing at Rose, "How've _you_ been hopping from place to place?"

"That wasn't a portal, that's just teleportation." She replied, shaking her head, "That's all power, and no help to us here."

"_This_ is good!" Jane said loudly, gesturing at what they had, "This here is theoretically possible, and I've got _actual_ science to back it up. It's just…building it making it work…uh, Loki?" she looked beseechingly at the god, and he thought that she might be either afraid of him, or hate him, "Do _you_ think it would be possible to make something work like this, sort of soon?"

Loki didn't take his eyes off of hers, but he was thrown off guard slightly.

"Well…yes." He answered slowly; he was sure the disbelief was evident on his face, but he didn't care. He looked between the group, at the bewildered and expectant faces of Thor, Rose, Tony, and Jane, and it began to occur to him _why_ they were still standing around discussing, "I already did."

"_What_?" four voices echoed off of the steel interior of the lab. Well, that was a turn-up.

They _actually_ hadn't caught up yet. He could have just kept quiet, but the look in Rose's eyes, and more importantly the overwhelming need to prove his superiority, made him speak slowly, bemusedly, as if at any second it might emerge that they weren't all truly _that_ stupid.

"I have already had a device…much like the one you desire…built." He elucidated; the vacant expressions prevailed, and Loki was hit by the sudden memory of how much he enjoyed being the cleverest, being the schemer, "I would have thought that you'd have remembered," he said slowly, wringing out the moment, "I gathered that you were all…well, quite upset with me."

Tony's and Thor's eyes widened at the same time, and Tony's mouth dropped open in realisation.

"We've already got a portal maker." Tony cursed, then turned on Jane, "_You've_ been studying it!"

Jane raised her hands in front of her body, but her face set determinedly.

"They brought it in a few months ago – but it doesn't work!" she insisted.

Loki rolled his eyes and sighed exasperatedly; even the smartest people on this planet were imbeciles.

"It's missing its main power source." He provided, not missing the confused, but pleased look on Tony's face. He pointedly ignored the proud smile on Thor's; it wasn't like this was the first time he'd been helpful.

Jane did not look as happy.

"Where are we going to get a new power source? I don't have a spare Tesseract lying around!" she enthused. Loki had to admit, he was also at a loss for how that problem could be solved, but…he didn't really care. It wasn't his problem, and he'd been quite helpful, all things considered.

Rose opened her mouth to speak, raising her hand before her as she did so, and then stopped. And then started again.

"We couldn't…I mean, he'd be _really _mad that we had, but…" she stuttered, but she looked between them all confidently, "We couldn't hook it up to the TARDIS could we? You know, the blue box we arrived in." she clarified at the blank stares, "I've seen the Doctor use her as a power source before, and the whole _point_ of her is traveling _through time and space_!" at this she looked to Loki for assurance, and he wished she hadn't because this was beyond his grasp of the science, "If we connected the machine you used to the TARDIS, would that help open a portal?"

Again, everyone looked to Loki. Why weren't they waiting for _Stark's _opinion? He was intelligent too. Loki tried unsuccessfully not to shrug his shoulders.

"I don't see why not." He eventually drawled. His machine was no work of genius; any old power source would work – or blow it up. He wasn't entirely sure; Selvig had built it.

"Great!" Tony exclaimed, and he delved into his holograms, sweeping them aside as he finished with them and pulling up new ones, "I can have the stuff brought here lickedy-split."

"Wait!" Jane all but shouted, making Tony freeze, "So we can open a portal. And once you're on the ground and in their computers you can delete the programmes or destroy _their_ machine, or whatever…but this doesn't help us shut down a portal to Asgard if they've already opened it."

Before Rose or Tony could look to him, Loki shook his head.

"I can't help you there." He assured them coolly.

"Think." Tony muttered, Loki assumed more to himself than anyone else, "Think!" He repeated this over and over. Rose shrugged; he hadn't expected much of her anyway.

Loki thought he might have been hallucinating when he heard Thor, _Thor_, clear his throat.

"Would it not be possible to just…open a portal where they plan to?" he asked, looking between Loki and the two scientists. Loki inhaled sharply as he realised what Thor meant, and actually felt a pang of pride (How long had he been trying to get him to _use his brain!_) for his brother; he was making it so hard to hate him…but that didn't mean Loki forgot everything that had happened.

"You've lost me big guy." Tony said dryly, motioning for him to continue. This was a hard demand for Thor to obey, Loki knew only too well, but to his credit, he attempted it.

"I thought that…it would be impossible for them to open a portal, if we have done so already." He explained, "If you will have access to their information, then you will know the exact destination of their portal."

"But that still leaves us with an open portal for things to escape through." Jane noted; her eyebrows had pinched together and she was obviously not on board with this plan.

"_No_." Loki cut in; he didn't know why he was helping his brother. The man was a pain…but this plan could work. _And_…if they lived to see the end of this debacle…these new assets could prove useful, "That is not how this science, practically a magic, works. If you attempt to open a portal, where another portal already exists, there are only two possibilities that I can see." He explained, meeting Rose's gaze; she looked so pleased with him, "It is possible that they could implode…not the best outcome, but I am sure that the Timelord technology can prevent that; they added so many fail-safes into their technology. The other is that they cancel each other out, and the machines are _both_ destroyed."

There was a moments silence, and then Tony broke it in typical style.

"So we have in our hands a sure-fire way to prevent the Master and this Moriarty from getting away from Earth?" he asked, fixing Loki with a burning stare.

"Yes, I believe so." Loki remarked, stepping back from the group at last and creating some space between them. Tony nodded and then called across the laboratory.

"Are you guys making headway with that gas thing?"

"The formula's done, I'm just replicating it." Sherlock called back without even looking up.

A grin took over Tony's face, and it seemed to spread from him to Rose to Thor, until all of the idiots were grinning away to themselves.

"Hell yeah!" Tony exclaimed, "We can so totally do this!"

* * *

**Finally! It only took me most of today, but here it is.**

**Yet more discussion and science, but it's ****_good _****discussion and science.**

**Also, I realised that this started as an exciting, but generally lighthearted fic, and has sort of delvolved into a darker more serious story. **

**Hope you enjoy though (and what is even happening in Loki's head atm?)**


	23. Dark Interlude

**Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me**

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Bruce was sleeping; not soundly, but at least he wasn't awake anymore. The Doctor watched the other man's chest rise and fall beneath the material of his rumpled shirt, steadily, carefully controlled by the sedative that was being dripped directly into his bloodstream. His forehead clenched and unclenched, and his eyes darted about behind their lids, but whatever nightmare that Bruce was living couldn't be as terrible as the one he had been forced to watch the Master inflicting hours earlier.

It couldn't be worse than the raw guilt and terror, the horror at what was happening and the half-formed pleas that they _think_, just _think_ about what could happen if the blood they were extracting by the litre so much as touched another human's DNA.

The Doctor had remained painfully awake throughout the procedure. And then throughout the tests, the tests that could only have been performed in the very same room as some twisted attempt to scar him, to make _him_ suffer as well.

The Master knew him too well.

But the Doctor didn't want him to go again. He didn't want to be the only one.

And if that didn't give the self-loathing a great helping hand, then the churning in his stomach and the nails down his spine must have been left over from the screams. He was so glad that Bruce had passed out before the screams.

They hadn't tested the Hulk gene in this laboratory; apparently they already had results. Someone had tried it before, with horrific results (the Master had taken great pleasure in making the Doctor watch the footage of a mutated man tearing apart a city in the middle of the night, surrounded by the armed forces, almost indestructible). The Master then explained how he had altered the formula, made it _better_, made it more effective; less autonomy, more agency, rational enough to follow orders, not enough self-awareness left to know what _they _want.

The worst thing about _that_ experience, was that the Master was a genius. His theories were entirely correct. There would be no unfortunate flaw to stop him in his tracks.

The Doctor could only hope that those left outside were working on an antidote; it was too late for a preventative strike, although he was sure that some of them would try. He had absolute faith in their abilities, had talked to them in such a way that they _should_ do as he thought they would. Then again, humans were so astoundingly good at ignoring what they _should_ do.

He _had_ been made to watch the other trials.

First had come the Timelord DNA splice; he knew from the moment that the formula was injected into the young man (should have been in school, earning a degree, learning how to bake) that he was dead.

Memories of what happened to Donna sprung to mind; she had gotten lucky.

But the Master didn't know what had happened to Donna, and so didn't believe the Doctor when he begged, (and _oh, was he willing to beg_, he would bring himself down as low as he could sink to stop these children being tortured), didn't stop after the first human that passed away curled in on himself, screaming and scratching at his flesh to try and stop the pain.

He hadn't stopped after the second, not even when the woman with tattoos down her arms had cried and collapsed, or fitted until her skin was pale and all movement stopped altogether.

The third (deaf by the sound of his voice, the way his words slurred slightly as he cried and begged to know what he'd done wrong) had stumbled and crashed into an empty trolley, sending it whizzing across the room as he rasped for breath, and repeated the same two words over and over about how _it burned._

It was only after the fourth, who had wept and wept and called for her mother as she collapsed in on herself, that the Master nudged the fallen body with the toe of his boot and looked down at her with disappointed and disconnected eyes and declared, half-bored half-accepting, that Timelord's and humans just weren't supposed to mix.

He had left then, having ordered the guards to remove the corpse, and the Doctor had only the sound of Bruce's breathing and his own thoughts screaming through his mind to keep him company.

He was glad Bruce had slept through it; he'd have to live through centuries more before he could even hope to cling onto a shred of sanity after hearing that. If the Doctor hadn't already, he thought he might have felt something more than pain and misery.

Then the Master had returned. This time Moriarty had joined him.

The Irishman was a new level of cold. He sauntered about the lab as the Master explained that Jack was locked elsewhere in the building; the Doctor watched Moriarty swagger about, his hands in his pockets, as he first watched Bruce with dead eyes and an amused smile, then flicked the medical equipment with his little finger.

The Master may have thought that Moriarty was a useful tool, but it didn't take a genius to see that Moriarty was there only because he wanted to be. There was no obedient stance in his movements, not even a camaraderie as the Master ushered him over to have him explain the more administrative areas of the plan.

The Master was showing off; he'd always done so. It was as if he wanted the Doctor to react. He wouldn't play though; tell him to _think_, just to _actually think_ about the consequences of his actions in a rational light.

Moriarty wouldn't play either. '_He doesn't need to know that'_ he had droned, inspecting his fingers even as he spoke. He'd then prompted the Master to action; he was bored, he had mused, it was time to see if the soldiers could be immortal.

The Doctor had shouted, he had yelled. Then he had given up; it was no use. It wouldn't work anyway, but it was worth trying to prevent a needless death. There was no point trying once the poor old man, with arthritis in his knees, was thrown into the room, and sprawled on the floor.

Moriarty hadn't wanted to get his hands dirty, but he watched distantly from the side as Moriarty gleefully manipulated a sample that must have come from Jack, and purged the poor man's cells with it.

It was as if he has faded; one moment he was blearily blinking against the harsh lights of the laboratory, the next he began to shiver, and then he fell, and then he was gone.

Moriarty had made a noise, and tilted his head to examine the results from a distance. The Master had looked to the Doctor, who could no longer hold back the bitterness.

_What had been the point in that_? He had _told_ them that wouldn't work! Jack's immortality wasn't genetic; he'd had a daughter and she was completely normal.

The Master merely shrugged and ordered the guards to take away the latest body, and then followed them out, whistling under his breath and promising not to stay away too long.

Moriarty had stayed exactly where he had been leaning, his eyes never leaving the Doctor's. A sadistic grin distorted the lower half of his face, and his eyes glistened darkly.

"_What would it take?" _he had almost sung, almost murmured, "_What would it take to tip you over the edge?" _his voice purred icily and his eyes burned, "_How hard would I have to push to have you _shatter_?"_

And then he had left as well, and the Doctor could only stare at the empty space.

Now Bruce was still sleeping, and the Doctor wished that he could see inside whatever plagued his nightmares; he could fight those kind of monsters.

The stillness of the moment was shattered as the door slammed open (no concern for the sleeping patient) and footsteps thumped on the hard cold floor. The Doctor's head snapped sharply towards the sound, cricking as he turned. He was too old for being strapped in one place for so long.

The Master sauntered in, weaving between the medical equipment with an anticipatory expression on his face as he came to a stop in front of the Doctor.

"You're going to behave and come with me." He instructed, already leaning down to loosen the straps around the Doctor's wrists; not that he could feel the difference, only a slight tingling near his extremities, "You _will_ see this."

"_Why?_" the Doctor rasped, slumping forwards involuntarily as he was released; he kept his eyes fixed on the Master's, "Why are you making me watch this? What are you gaining from showing me what you _know_ will torture me?"

The Master chuckled as one would at a lively nephew and shook his head as he helped the Doctor to his feet, slinging an arm around his waist to keep him upright as he swayed.

"But _Doctor_. You were _right_ before, we _are_ past all of that in the past." He emphasised; the Doctor had no choice but to let himself be led from the laboratory and into the corridor; there were no guards, so this was a personal visit, "I don't begrudge you _anything…_after our last encounter, we're even, like old times! But that's why I'm showing you _this, _you'll see eventually that you can't stop this, and _shouldn't try_."

"What you're doing is _monstrous_!" the Doctor growled; he tried to heave himself away from the Master, but had no luck. The Master just shook his head again and paused outside an inconspicuous door, taking a moment to unlock it with an everyday key before pushing the two of them through it.

It was a simple surveillance suite; screens covered the back wall, and the Doctor was stunned into silence at what he saw on each one. He had expected it, but hadn't been prepared for the rows of beds that he saw, with about thirty people in total, lying prostrate upon them, hooked up to IV lines.

He didn't need telling to know what was in them.

"Isn't it marvellous?" The Master prompted, waving his hand through the air above the screens. He was smirking, looking so pleased with himself; the malice shone through his eyes. He knew this was wrong, and he was doing it anyway. That didn't mean the Doctor was going to stop trying.

"You could stop this." He whispered, never taking his eyes from the unconscious humans, "You could stop this right now, and nobody would lose _anything_."

The Master guffawed cheerfully, hysterically, the sound vibrating off of the low walls and then cutting off abruptly. He shook his head and clapped the Doctor on the back.

"No." he remarked, the grin never leaving his face, "I'm having far too much fun to stop now."

* * *

**This is just a small interlude (6th form is hectic atm), but it's creepy and chilling, so I hope it satiates your patience with me.**

**Reviews are always welcome and appreciated, so I can improve where needed.**

**Enjoy.x**


	24. One Last Moment Alone

**Disclaimer: I still don't own any of the fandoms in this fic**

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Sherlock span on his heel, motioning for John to follow him from the Bridge (which he did, as always; _good old Dr Watson)_, shaking his head to clear it of the unpreventable surge of annoyance, even though Fury had done exactly as he had been instructed. Grumbling and cursing aside, the man had nodded solemnly as Sherlock explained what needed to be done, putting his most mechanically able agents onto replicating the 'anti-Hulk' formula.

The detective would have been pleased with the way things were going, if Fury hadn't ended the conversation by recapping the plan of attack, _telling_ Sherlock that he _had_ to do this and that. He _knew_ where to be, he was the one who had _come up with the plan_.

That wasn't to say that he wasn't apprehensive; travelling around the world alone had been hard enough (the memories of nights alone, huddled in the cold of shoddy hostels, running a cheap phone between his fingers and itching to use it, just once, would sneak up on him in his most unguarded moments), but the idea of having to undertake that kind of mission again, this time with John by his side, sent uncomfortable barbs churning in his gut.

Sherlock ground to a halt half-way down the corridor, pursing his lips decidedly. John stumbled to a stop, colliding with Sherlock's arm; the detective hadn't realised how close together they had been. It wasn't an unwelcome realisation.

Before he could think himself out of it, Sherlock reached down and took John's hand. John's fingers seemed to unconsciously curl around his, but his arm stiffened, his expression clouding in bewilderment as he looked up at Sherlock, who avoided meeting his gaze and continued striding towards Tony's laboratory. John tugged on his arm, but didn't relinquish his grasp; and if that didn't make Sherlock feel as if he could fight a hundred Hulks with his bare hands then nothing could.

"Sherlock…" John queried; Sherlock glanced down at his doctor and smiled stiffly – warmly – he wasn't sure, but it was enough for John's face to brighten and his lips to twitch upwards, "What are you doing?" he gave their connected hands a shake.

Sherlock shrugged nonchalantly, shortening his gait when he noticed how John was having to stagger along to keep by his side.

"_Must_ you question everything I do John?" he teased, drawing out the syllables, battling the warmth in his chest that erupted when John smiled and shook his head, his emotions written across his face, "It's _dreadfully_ dull."

They travelled in companionable silence for a few minutes, pushing between the agents that would spill into the halls of the Helicarrier in fits and starts, washing in and out of the rooms they passed, before John cleared his throat, making the noise that he made before he broached a '_normal person'_ subject.

"It's…it's alright, you know - "

"Spit it out John." Sherlock interrupted fondly.

John started talking again, but Steve and Tony appeared from a door to their left and he fell silent until they had passed, nodding respectfully in return for their greeting. The moment that they had disappeared from sight, Sherlock wished that they would come back.

"It's alright to be scared of facing Moriarty again." John hastily assured the detective; his face was set and he was trying desperately to make eye contact.

Sherlock huffed and pulled him to the edge of the hall, out of the way of the flurry of agents, and moved in close, looming over the doctor; it took all his power not to retract his hand in defiance, but the feel of it clasped in his own, and the warm blue of John's eyes as they bore into his made him squeeze even tighter.

"I am _not_ scared of _him_!" he seethed; John sighed in exasperation and rolled his eyes, lifting his free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, but Sherlock ploughed on, "That _man_ has been resurrected as a puppet, and I _know_ that he won't like that, I _know_ that he will have his own plans bubbling under the surface." They didn't have time for the detective to explode, but he couldn't seem to stop himself, "I _know_ how he ticks now John! Don't you _see_? I dismantled his _empire,_ I've seen how he works, how his enterprises are designed, I had his top men give me _every detail_!" John was beginning to look cautious now, but there was no stopping, "Moriarty is more dangerous than he has ever been John, but don't ever make the mistake of thinking that I am _scared_ of him!"

John didn't speak at first; Sherlock feared for a moment that he had upset him, _again_, and only had a vague idea of why that might have been. John's bottom lip was dragged through his teeth, and it was clear that an argument had the potential to brew.

"Don't go after him." John said calmly, quietly, but with enough force behind it that Sherlock found that he couldn't answer back as he usually would; he wasn't one for metaphors, but he could have raked his hands through the tension between them, tangible as it was.

"John-"

"Don't go after him Sherlock." John repeated, his voice gravelly with supressed emotion.

Sherlock wanted to look away, avoid the fear (and it definitely was fear, now that Sherlock thought about it) in John's eyes; he couldn't though, the only other things to look at were the obnoxiously professional agents.

"Why would I go after him, John?" he eventually replied, swallowing guiltily before John's name. John didn't answer, but his forehead clenched as his eyes, unusually inspective, scanned the detective's face. Sherlock was once again glad that John seemed incapable of truly reading his innermost thoughts, as difficult as that made their relationship.

John shook his head, shrugging before pulling the detective away from the wall, starting up a pace towards the laboratory (Sherlock chose not to mention that their destination had changed, seeing as Tony had headed in the other direction). Suddenly the hand in his felt awkward, uncomfortable.

"Where did Rose get to? We're supposed to be ready to meet the others soon." Sherlock inquired, hoping to lighten the mood, "I want to get this over sooner rather than later."

John sighed, and it became abundantly clear that the 'mood' had been well and truly lost.

"She said she was going to try and convince Loki to help us." He explained tersely. Sherlock couldn't help but scoff at the animosity that laced his tone.

"You don't like that idea?" he prodded, smirking down at John's disgruntled expression.

"You do?" John shot back, "The man's clearly a nutter, and I honestly think he might _kill_ us."

Sherlock refrained from commenting on how eerily similar John's words sounded; Loki had of course actually led an invasion on Earth, but mentally, personally…he wasn't that bad. It took a lot for Sherlock to even bother passing judgement on anyone in the first place, but the god seemed to be a useful man to have on the right side.

"He's apparently a master fighter, thinker, and _sorcerer_. I won't believe the last until I see it, but it would be idiotic to refuse any assistance offered to us." Sherlock answered briefly, and then as if it were a second thought, "I never took you as the kind of man that judged so harshly."

"He's deliberately antagonising me!" John defended himself, raising his hands (and Sherlock's with it), in the universal gesture for surrender. The detective let out a low chuckle, and lengthened his stride, dragging John along behind him.

Jack didn't want to open his eyes. There was no point. All that he'd see would be the inside of the monotonous room, too dull for the architect to have dreamed even the slightest inch in the direction of what the Master, what this Moriarty, had inflicted upon him.

And the people. He didn't know who they were, but they'd died because his blood, _his DNA_, wouldn't work (and _GOD_, how many people had tried and failed); the Master had gotten bored, but Moriarty…Moriarty. Even after the results came, he had _still_ wanted to poke and prod and see what ticked, which bits he could lop off and how quickly they'd grow back.

Jack tried tugging at the chains that strung his arms above his head; the Master had a thing for chains, he didn't know what else he'd been expecting really, but still, it was an inconvenience, not being able to feel your hands.

It was no use. What would he even do if he managed to break free? Nothing, that was what. The Doctor was locked up, and so far unlikely to get out – maybe he was waiting for the opportune moment, maybe he had a plan – all Jack knew was that until SHIELD and the team made a move, there was no point going anywhere, as it would only end with him blowing the whole venture or ending up right back in that dull, grey room.

But there was always hope… more than hope. The signal had been sent and SHIELD would be able to find their exact position. They'd be able to send in their best and brightest. They were clever enough that they'd be able to fight the monsters (the two men were more monstrous than any of the experiments that he'd caught sight of as he was ferried about the hideout), they'd reverse what had been done, and they'd all go out for a drink and not get home until the next day.

It was a shame Captain Jack Harkness had never been a hopeful man.

He wasn't one for cursing, but in that moment he would have ripped into various things had he not wanted to allow Bruce just a bit more peace in the form of unconsciousness. The man's nightmares couldn't have been as bad for him as the reality would be soon.

If only he could get out of these restraints! They weren't nearly as bad as the last ones the Master had strapped him into, but there was no way the Doctor could get his wrists and legs free, especially not without his screwdriver.

And it was _just there_! His screwdriver had been left on the side, _feet away_, to taunt him. That was what had done it.

To Hell with the despair and the misery. He was going to fight back, cause as much trouble, maybe even try and fix the problem before the others arrived to have a go.

It would only take a simple antidote to reverse the new Hulk-people, and to do that he'd have to ensure that the Master and Moriarty (not to mention their guards) were out of the picture for long enough. He'd achieved more than that with no shoes and half a keg of whisky.

At the very least he could use his screwdriver to disable the machinery that the Master had been building. Oh yes, he'd felt the need to show that off as well. His mistake; now the Doctor knew exactly where it was, what it did, and how to get rid of it.

That was a terrific plan, if he did say so himself. Or it would be if he could get out of the _damn restraints!_

Things were going to go badly. They were going to go _so_ badly, so horribly badly that the aftermath would last far longer than any other in recent years. Whether the others came through for him and performed as he thought they would, or they failed miserably, tripping at the first hurdles, there was going to be devastation.

But it didn't have to be as bad as it _could_ get. Things could turn out for the best. That was what the Doctor kept telling himself, over and over, in the vain hope that the message would sink in and stay there.

Everything would turn out for the best.

Loki glanced up momentarily when she marched into the laboratory, her blonde hair flying behind her. He regretted the action immediately, and turned his attention back to the databases that he had been idly scrolling through. Nothing dangerous (Thor had watched over his shoulder and Stark had made it clear that his disembodied voice would allow no deviations), just the literature of Midgard.

Apparently it was 'fine' for the God of Mischief to peruse the online libraries, but catching up with the latest news from around the planet posed some kind of threat. He had seen much of the work before, but there were some 'modern classics' that hadn't yet made their way to Asgard.

He knew what Rose wanted. She was here to convince him to accompany her and the detective into the den of the enemy, while the other Avengers adopted a full frontal approach.

He didn't yet know what he would say to her. Earlier he had been excited, thrilled even, by the prospect of the science before him, the planning and scheming; he had even gotten as close to camaraderie with Sherlock, Stark, and Thor before realising where he was and suddenly suffocating under the weight of his feelings towards them.

He hated them. But he didn't really. It was more indifference. Before that, he'd hated them all, refused to play along, wandered about just to spite them and watch the reactions. Now, he was disgruntled and miserable. It was all flooding in on him and he just wanted to be left alone.

Except…he didn't want to be left _alone_.

What he didn't want to happen, was to be left alone in his own head. As he was at that very moment.

Rose had been trying to get his attention, standing beside him, her arms folded over her chest as she glared at him frustrated and stubborn, unwilling to lose enough faith in him to allow her to accept that he _didn't want_ to play the hero with her.

"What is it you want me to do Rose?" Loki turned on her, stepping into her space to loom over her; he might have felt guilty if he hadn't been surrounded by everything else that made his life a misery, "What is it that makes you think that I would help these people?"

Rose didn't flinch as Loki spewed his distemper over her, rolling her eyes and blowing a stray lock of hair from her face.

"You don't even have to interact with _these people_ – one of who is your _brother_ you stupid, Viking, nutter – and most importantly, because I asked you to." She informed him, completely unfazed as he huffed and snarled; she had never shown him due respect, and it didn't matter how much affection may have been there before, the Chituari had wiped that from his mind, leaving only painful memories.

He asked again, sharper this time, "What is it that you want me to do?"

Rose's expression lightened and the tension in her shoulders evaporated; she thought that she was winning. Truth was, Loki was already feeling the come down from his burst of anger.

"I want you to help us." Rose sighed when Loki scoffed at her remark, "I want you to help _me._" She continued to implore, and Loki recognised immediately the way that her eyes widened and her lips pouted slightly; the girl was attempting to manipulate the master of deception, "I've seen you do magic, I _know_ exactly how powerful you are. If you don't come, me and Sherlock and John, we'll be in more danger than we would _with _you. And…" a mischievous smile crept onto her face, making Loki's stomach turn not quite unpleasantly, "I've never met anyone who can sneak in and out of places like you can."

Loki gritted his teeth but didn't break from the sultry, imploring gaze that Rose was burning into his own. Her hands had come up to rest just below his elbows and the space between them had decreased substantially.

Inwardly he hated the fact that he wasn't sure if it was this, or the nature of what she had said that caused the slipping of his resolve. Loki liked to think that he wasn't so easily turned, but with the greater proximity to the woman, who he had barely been allowed to think of in past months, it might well have been the truth.

On the other hand, he couldn't remember the last time he had done anything like this. The fated trip to Jotenheim had been the last venture that he and Thor had undertaken…and that was less of an adventure and more a misguided storming of the battlements.

"What danger could there be? I thought that this was merely a rescue mission." Loki inquired, pointedly ignoring the victorious smile that shone from Rose's face and made her light up beautifully, "Would your opponents not be on the battlefield, tackling the brutes of your _team_?"

"No," Rose responded immediately, "the Master and Moriarty are clever, there's more to this than just an out an out fight. They'll be protecting the important parts of their plan, and that's where we come in," she explained; it was as if Loki had already agreed to help her (even if he refused, he was still fascinated by what was occurring) "I mean, yeah, we're gonna get Bruce and the Doctor out, but we also need to disable their databases and destroy anything they've created."

"You won't go after the masterminds?" Loki inquired; he could just about accept that Rose would obey orders (she would occasionally stop being a law unto herself if it was truly important), but she was not the only one on this mission; Loki would definitely not do as Fury ordered. Not that he had agreed to anything yet.

"No, I reckon the Doctor will want to go after them." Rose remarked thoughtfully, and then catching the inquisitive quirk of Loki's eyebrow added, "Not to kill them! Just to bring them back and lock em' up."

Loki nodded detachedly, finally lifting his eyes from hers to focus on the air behind her shoulder. He didn't want to go; it wasn't a difficult decision to come to, he just couldn't be bothered, he couldn't find the effort. But it did sound interesting, and it was something to do, in the abstract at least.

And wouldn't Thor be pleased. His stupid face would light up, and he might even try to sweep his brother into an embrace, overcome with joy to be fighting side by side once more. Even more reason not to help, no matter how much he didn't want Rose's pretty, insulting, lovely face to be smashed and marred when she failed.

"We could really you your help Loki," Rose was pleading again; oh, she may have been balancing her voice so that she sounded confident, nonchalant, but she was pleading nonetheless, "I know Sherlock thinks he's an invincible genius, but he'll snap like a twig if Bruce freaks and swats him."

Yes, the detective would. Actually, given what Loki had seen of man, he'd probably be more inclined to ignore the captives and go about the job his own way.

Oh. That could be very, very interesting. Things could become incredibly, fantastically fun. Loki unconsciously grasped Rose's arms, not pulling her close. Now that he thought about it, really thought about what was being asked of him, things could become _very_ interesting.

Rose was asking him to leave the Helicarrier, to be unshackled and let loose, to be trusted to perform as he was expected. He would be let loose amongst all the technology, all the tools of destruction and mischief, in close proximity to the two men trying to take over the world.

Should he wish, he could walk away and never have to see these people again.

Rose would be furious, hurt, but…it had been so long since they were together. He didn't deserve her anymore.

Rose was still talking, explaining the plan, as if he hadn't heard it when the others were talking, or Thor hadn't announced everything they were planning to do at length in booming tones.

"I will accompany you."

Rose fell silent, her speech about not killing the transformed humans cut short as her eyes widened in surprise.

"What?"

"I will accompany you on this mission." Loki drawled; it would not do to seem eager, or as if Rose had in any way persuaded him.

"Loki!" Rose squealed, and before he had time to react she had thrown herself on top of him, flinging her arms around his neck and squeezing tightly; had he been mortal, he might have been thrown off of his feet.

He tried to return the gesture, caught off guard by her actions; the chains around his wrists prevented him from manoeuvring his arms into the correct position. He supposed that was probably for the best; it wouldn't do to look anything other than uncaring and unconcerned.

Steve watched from his perch while Tony made last minute adjustments to his Iron Man suit; Tony had said something about increasing thruster capacity, or energy transference, but Steve knew enough about modern technology to see that all that changed was the positioning of certain screws and bolts.

The pinched expression on Tony's face, and his unusually silent demeanour as he remained in one small part of his workspace, made it clear to Steve exactly what was going through Stark's head, genius IQ or not.

"I know I'm hot, but is now the right moment to be staring?" Tony quipped, without even looking up to see Steve roll his eyes and fight off a small smirk, "There's no way we'd get you out of that spandex in time for the big meet-up."

Instead of gracing that with a reply, Steve cut to the chase, "This won't be like last time, you know." He assured Tony, who slowly lowered his tools and flickered his eyes up to meet Steve's, no giving anything away, "There's no reason for it to go that far, not this time; we're prepared for the worst."

Tony adopted the dismissive, false smile that he always did when topics became uncomfortably intimate and turned back to the gauntlet in front of him.

"I don't know what you mean Cap, I'm psyched."

Steve moved across the room to take the seat closest to Tony. Tony didn't look up, but he also didn't shake off the hand that Steve ran briefly over his shoulder.

"Look Tony, I'm not going to pretend that I haven't noticed you having nightmares, even after all this time," at this Tony shot him a dark look, but Steve pushed past that, "You were thrown out a window, and you nearly died going through that portal – it's okay for you to be afraid of going to fight something so similar!" Tony scoffed, but Steve took the lack of argument as a good sign and placed his hand once again on the man's shoulder, this time leaving it there, "But that's not going to happen again because we know what we're doing this time."

"There's so much that could go wrong though!" Tony snapped, then looked apologetic; Steve shrugged and Tony continued, "What if we don't get Bruce out fast enough, what if one of the girls gets hurt – they're not even slightly equipped to fight – what if we _can't _reverse the Hulk-people and they get to Asgard - "

"Tony stop it!" Steve interrupted, and Tony pursed his lips, waiting for Steve to continue, "Donna's going to try and lure Bruce away _before_ he even gets near to the others, and that's only if he isn't rescued properly first, the girls will be fine, Rose had got Loki at her beck and call and Thor's going to keep an eye on Donna. I don't think you included Natasha in that list, but she can handle herself." That earned a small chuckle, "And yeah, our plan's a bit sketchy, but as soon as we've got the Doctor back he'll know exactly what to do."

Tony nodded solemnly, "So we're just manning the barriers."

"Yeah." Steve replied. The quiet didn't seem right amongst the scraps of Tony's work, "Did you get the jets ready to spread the formula?"

"Oh yeah! That was the easy part." Tony answered confidently, winking as he did so.

Steve continued to rub circles on Tony's shoulder as the man became less and less engaged in tinkering uselessly with his gauntlet. Another few moments passed, and then a low frantic beeping emanated from the radio buckled onto Tony's belt.

"Looks like we're leaving." Steve noted, raising himself to his feet. Tony nodded and looked down at his hands.

"Go on ahead," he instructed, "I'll catch up when I've got my suit on."

Steve felt only a moment of trepidation at the idea of leaving Tony on his own, but decided that he could use the time alone to gather his thoughts, and strode from the room to join the others by the jets.

* * *

**I decided to make this a sort of montage of the different characters preparing for the clash.**

**I also made it more shippy, as the story was beginning to lose the pairings a bit.**

**Hope you like it**


	25. A Terrible Mistake

**Disclaimer: as always**

* * *

It was all arranged. Fury had marshalled the troops, had the 'anti-Hulk' formula replicated on a massive scale and was now waiting for the word go so that he could release the dispersal jets.

Jane and her portal-machine were being kept safe on a stealth craft, hovering just outside the city of London, waiting for the moment that the databases of the enemy were hacked and she might need to open another portal on top of one that was already there.

Nobody was looking forward to finding out if that would work.

After much debate, and Fury's wrath, Loki had been released from his shackles, on the basis that if he did anything uncouth, Thor would hunt him down and drag him back to Asgard by his ears. If that failed, Rose would have his neck.

The Avengers had exchanged silent stares that spoke volumes of how much they hoped that the god's apparent feelings for the woman, and his lingering affections for his home planet would prevent him from ruining everything.

So he, accompanied by Rose, Sherlock, and John, none of whom came across as formidable in any sense, were packed into a jet, which would carry them to a location a mile away from the now well fortified building complex that the Master had taken for his own.

* * *

They were dropped off at strategic points outside the city, left to enter and position themselves, cover all bases. Nobody was sure where the mutated people would be released if it got that far. Nobody knew where the portal might tear a whole in the fabric of space. It was all guess-work.

Sherlock had been gracious enough to call his brother, apparently some high-up member of the British government, and the streets were being cleared, people being herded as calmly as possible away from the larger spaces of the city. They couldn't alert anyone, couldn't start a panic, so there were suggestions that people should go the other way, snow warnings in big letters, policemen on corners diverting pedestrians into their homes, 'road closed' signs holding back the traffic. All it left was an eerily quiet city and the occasional rebel wandering aimlessly because they could.

Tony had been the first to leave, letting himself keel over the edge of the jet while it was still in flight, his Iron Man suit glinting in the muted sunlight as it disappeared into the streets of London. People there weren't as accustomed to him as they were in New York. He would have to land as inconspicuously as possible and then hide until needed.

Clint and Natasha had departed within ten minutes of each other, Clint pausing to run the back of his hand through the red curls by her left ear. She had shaken it off with a tense smile, her eyes revealing nothing, and then they had both sprinted as surreptitiously as possible into the city, aiming for high points, from which he could put his greatest asset to use, and she could set up her advanced weaponry, brought out specially for the occasion.

If nothing else, they could shepherd the creatures into one area.

Then the jet had landed and Thor had stepped cautiously from within, taking Donna's hand and helping her to her feet. If the others failed to get Bruce back to their own jet before he panicked in the heat of things, then they were the only two that really stood a chance of stopping him, getting his to safety before the gas that could do what he had failed to do and kill him was released.

The expression on Donna's face meant that nobody had the heart to voice their concerns, to suggest that maybe, she would be safer away from the chaos.

That left Steve, his shoulders squared, his head held high as Captain America tread tensely through the dreary streets, nodding respectfully to the Londoners who, after alien invasions and a spate of bombings, had become familiar enough with danger to know that they should hurry their pace and get inside.

That didn't stop the few that waited in the doorways, their curiosity piqued.

Steve wished that he could tell them to leave, but that might ruin everything. Or it might not. He just didn't know.

And where would the homeless go? Steve entertained that thought for a moment before trailing his eyes over the raggedy men and women that he saw every now and then. Of all the people, they looked the least concerned, as if nothing else in the world could affect them.

He hadn't thought that they'd be on the open streets like this, but he supposed, they could go wherever they liked.

Sighing, making sure to keep scanning the area as he walked through the streets towards the nearest open area, Steve turned on his radio, clicking the earpiece and waiting for the caustic fuzz.

"Tony, what's the story where you are?" he asked, and a few seconds passed before Tony's voice filtered through the technology in his ear.

"_Well Cap, I can proudly report that London is _very_ boring when there's no one around – Poirot's bro did a good job."_

Steve was too busy fighting the uncertainty creeping up his oesophagus to scold him; it was too quiet. True, this wasn't a huge obstacle; the streets were wide, and the skyline lower than in New York, so even if things did kick off, they wouldn't be at too much of a disadvantage.

"Are you sure you can't see anything suspicious that we can nip in the bud?" asked, hoping that anyone on the channel might step in with good news.

"_Nope." _Tony chirped, though Steve could just about hear the trepidation in his tone, "_Just a few homeless guys hanging around."_

_"Same here," _Clint's slurring tones rippled into Steve's ear; Steve emerged from the side-street he had darted down and into the wide square, "_I've taken up position on the highest building I could find – the streets are mostly clear, and people are moving away quickly – all but the homeless, and they seem to be bunching up more to the East than the West."_

_"I've got an estate in the West covered, and there're barely any homeless here – they're mostly hiding though, not out in the open like yours." _Natasha added; Steve took up his position, partially hidden in the shade of a wide stone building.

"_No need to sound so bored Romanov." _Tony snarked, and Natasha shot back a snippy retort before Steve could get them back in line.

"Keep the channel clear unless you have something important to share." He instructed; the silence seemed to ring off the stone walls around him did nothing to help the ominous foreboding that overtook him.

When Loki had tried to take over, it was _loud_. It was boastful and flashy, and there was no doubting where they had to take the fight. The Master had barely made a sound; this wasn't for glory, or pride, this was all in honour of his own destructive streak. And Steve had no idea where or when things were going to blow up in their faces, like a volcano that had grown and tensed before vomiting its deadly cargo.

He decided to check in on Thor, who wouldn't use his radio unless prompted.

"Thor, how's Donna?" he asked, and a clunking echoed down the radio.

"_She is anxious, but I have stationed us in an open space with plenty of cover, as near to the river and the enemies base of operations as possible." _Thor replied, and Steve was momentarily cheered as Donna's insistence that she wasn't anxious were picked up by the microphone, "_I must add, Captain, that there is something in the air that does not bode well."_

"Well, we always knew that everything could go wrong." Was all that Steve could say. When there was no retort from any of the team, he returned to his silent vigil .

* * *

Getting into the building complex was easier than Sherlock had expected. True, the alarms had to be disabled, and the locks picked, but that was child's-play; it didn't take longer than ten minutes, and no matter what Rose said, Sherlock refused to admit that it would have taken half the time had Loki done more than just lean against the doorframes and examine his nails.

He had expected there to be guards around. John had pushed the three of them behind him and entered the complex first, his gun held aloft, but his form had slackened in shock when they were met with an empty hall.

The lights were dimmed, and once the fire-door was allowed to swing shut behind them, nobody moved, all of them inhaling slowly as they were cloaked in choking blue shadows. Sherlock wanted to move on, but the thought of who was lurking somewhere within made his feet stay put, regardless of what he brain was screaming.

Neither Rose nor John seemed willing to venture forward, but Sherlock saw out of the corner of his eye that they were poised as if ready to strike whatever might leap out at them.

It was too quiet; too still.

"Are you so pathetic that you cannot face what is within?" Loki's weary drawl broke the silence, and Sherlock felt John flinch beside him. It was enough to get his mental faculties running at full speed and push him into action.

"The others are expecting us to check in with them soon," he recapped, striding away from the group and turning to address them; there was clearly no one of importance left within, he could move unguarded (not to say that there wouldn't be a few – there was no reason that the leaders of the plot would have departed for the battlefield), "We can get more done if we split into pairs and tackle a problem each."

John nodded swiftly and moved to stand beside him, "Right, so you and me will go after the databases and try to stop this machine – Rose you can take Loki and get Bruce and the Doctor out."

Rose grinned wickedly and adjusted her coat, making to slip her arm through Loki's, who was eyeing the detective with an unreadable glint in his eyes. Sherlock was confident that the god understood the situation as well as he did.

"Come on Loki – we'll see you guys later." Rose instructed, but Loki didn't move when the pressure on his arm increased, causing her to stumble and back-track.

Sherlock decided to set things straight and stop wasting time, "John, _you_ accompany Rose to find the prisoners, Loki can come with me." He announced, earning a quirk of Loki's eyebrow and a contortion of bewilderment on Rose's.

There was a rustle of fabric as John turned quickly and look up at the detective, and Sherlock tried to ignore the disappointment in his eyes.

"What? What are you doing Sherlock?" the doctor asked quietly, lowering his voice so that the other two didn't overhear. Sherlock didn't use the same courtesy; he needed John to do as he was told, and the only way that would happen would be if the man accepted what little he was given and felt pressured by the already made decision.

"This is an important mission John, we can't have personal feelings distracting _any_ of us," Sherlock explained, lying through his teeth and raising his eyes so that he could glare pointedly at Rose, "The best thing would be for you to help Rose remove Bruce and the Doctor – a friendly face will be far more welcome than either Loki or myself."

Rose ran her eyes over Loki's face, scanning his expression for any indication that he held an opinion regarding the suggestion; he didn't react, and his green eyes were still piercing the detective as if trying to wrench open his mind from afar.

"I don't know…" Rose mumbled, looking cautiously away from Loki and down the vacant halls either side of them; they had been standing around for too long now, and it would become dangerous if they stayed much longer.

"_Sherlock_, just stop mucking around-" John hissed; the scenery did nothing to calm his nerves, and Sherlock knew that he had been relying upon being at his side for the entire mission, for comfort or to protect him he wasn't sure.

Sherlock tore his eyes away from John's and met Loki's gaze, wordlessly pleading with him.

"I agree with Sherlock." Loki interrupted Rose's attempt at a compromise, and both she and John stared at him in open suspicion; the god shrugged his shoulders and looked down at the two of them, "I shall accompany him." He swept past John, who stumbled back and grunted indignantly, "After all, I _am_ the only one here with true knowledge of this machine that you wish to disable."

Rose didn't say anything, but her lips were pursed; Sherlock prayed that she didn't try to argue. It was too much to ask that John did the same, so he attempted to move on before he was given the chance.

"Now that that's sorted, we have to go. _Now!"_ Sherlock ordered, "The schematics show that the most likely place for them to be held is in _that_ direction," he pointed towards the halls on the far left, before turning on his heel, pushing at Loki's back to try and rush him in the opposite direction, calling over his shoulder, "We'll see you on the jet!".

John's voice reverberated off the walls as Sherlock managed to get Loki to move (sneering down at the man and wrenching his limbs out of his reach as he strode ahead).

"Don't do anything reckless, Sherlock! I will find out about it!"

Sherlock, against his better judgement, stumbled to a momentary halt and shot John a swift, fake smile which left only a worried, blanched face behind him. A pounding of footfalls made him stop again, but this time Rose darted past him, a blur of blue and yellow, grasping at Loki's arm and pulling him to face her.

"You behave alright." He heard her mutter, and Loki scoffed, turning his face away, his eyes lingering on her face. With a sigh, Rose released his sleeves and returned to John's side. The two of them disappeared from sight as John shook his head and ushered her away, his posture stiffened to that of a soldier in a matter of moments.

Sherlock was left alone with Loki, who to his slight trepidation, was watching him again, his expression indecipherable save for the smug smirk that adorned his lips and the almost malicious glint in his eyes.

Without a word, Sherlock started walking as quickly as possible through the hushed halls; he heard more than saw Loki following beside him, and then stepping in front, pushing him to a stop with a hand on his chest. The god loomed over him.

"Tell me mortal why you truly wished _me_ to accompany you."

Sherlock decided that it wouldn't be helpful to tear the god to pieces for talking down to him, but that didn't mean that he would allow himself to be intimidated.

"Are my previously given reasons not enough?" he remarked tensely. Loki chuckled darkly and shook his head as one would to a child.

"Believe me Sherlock, I _know_ when someone lies, and I _know_ when I am being used." His tone was dangerous but playful, and Sherlock wanted to go, he needed to get a move on before it was too late.

"You also _know_ exactly what I want." Sherlock replied, his jaw tensing as he maintained eye contact, "And _I_ know that you are the only person who would allow me to go through with it."

Loki's smirk morphed into a dark smile, which took over his face. He removed his hand from Sherlock's chest and motioned that he was free to pass.

"I see…then let us continue." He drawled, "I have no qualms with allowing you to go after this 'Moriarty'."

* * *

Rose was able to phase out while they made their way through the complex. The halls were deserted (and if this didn't seem eerily familiar…), but John was being as quiet as possible, creeping down the corridors gun first, checking the first room of each row (apparently if the first one wasn't kitted out, then the others in its row wouldn't be either).

She had just one aim; get to the Doctor. Worry for Loki and what he might do now that he was free and out of her sight niggled at the back of her mind, but she forced them down and focused on trying not to say something sarcastic.

She appreciated that they were in enemy territory and that John was behaving rationally, but in all honesty, she had been in worse situations with Torchwood and the Doctor, and she had practically swaggered around unarmed.

John came to a stop by a set of stairs that went both up and down; before he could make a strategic decision, Rose cut in, hoping that she didn't sound too critical.

"Maybe they're downstairs -" she suggested; John raised his eyebrows as he turned to look at her, but he didn't seem insulted, "You know…if I were to lock people up, downstairs would be where I'd put 'em."

"Yeah, that's what I thought." John muttered, but he continued to glance up the stairwell, "Don't you think it's too quiet?"

Rose shrugged as she turned and headed down the stairs, listening to John curse and hurry ahead of her to cover their fronts with his gun.

"Quiet's fine – it's when it's busy you want to worry." She remarked, earning a weary but curious glance in return, "You never know when something's gonna jump out at you."

"You enjoy this far too much." Was all John said in reply, before he froze and raised a hand out to her, shushing her.

"What?" Rose whispered; John shook his head and began to creep along the corridor. It was dark, and the only real light was streaming pitifully from beneath a few doors dotted down the length of the hall. When Rose listened hard enough, she could just make out a low humming and ticking.

They were in the right place.

In her need to get to the Doctor, to find out what the Master had done to him, Rose passed by John, who was carefully checking the nearest room.

"This one's empty…it looks like they were using it as an office." He reported, and then as he looked over his shoulder, he caught sight of Rose, "You can't just burst in there!"

Rose ignored him, and shoved hard on the next lit door; it was wedged tightly, and she managed to jar it open, the wood and metal creaking just as John's presence appeared behind her. He was cursing and swearing, cocking his gun just in case, but she barely noticed.

The room had been kitted out like a hospital, with IVs and beds (although the restraints broke the illusion). Bruce was strapped down, and pipes were feeding into his arms, while his head lolled fom side to side, as if he were dreaming something awful.

John dropped his gun and slipped it into his pocket, hurrying across the room to look at the bedridden man, switching from soldier to doctor in less time than it took Rose to let out the breath she had gasped in.

All of her attention was on the Doctor, who was seated in a steel chair, his arms strapped down, and his head rolling on his chest as if he had merely fallen asleep. While she was peripherally aware of John unbuckling Bruce's restraints and removing the IV lines, muttering and mumbling as the drugged man began to struggle back to alertness, it took up only a fleeting part of her mind.

She dropped down to crouch in front of the Doctor, releasing his arms and catching his weight as he tipped forward. With a cough and a groan, he shifted backwards, blinking hard and scanning the room as if he had awoken to worse things in the time he had been there.

He may not have looked like _her_ Doctor, but the bags under his eyes, the way his gaze lingered and vacillated over each corner of the room, landing on her own and burning with a mixture of unidentifiable emotions, they made her heart reach out to him.

"I knew you'd come." He rasped, a dry smile stretching his chapped lips; Rose grinned back, her vision going a little fuzzy as she wrapped her arms around him, relishing the double-heart beat pounding in his chest. After what seemed like a lifetime to her, the Doctor pushed her away gently, peering over her shoulder.

"Bruce?" he called, giving a sigh of relief as his eyes landed on the scientist.

Rose raised herself to her feet and turned to see how John was getting on. Bruce was awake now, mumbling almost entirely incoherently as John helped raise him into a sitting position, rubbing circles on his shoulder.

"It's alright, we're taking you back to SHIELD, it's not your fault…." Reassurances poured from his mouth as Bruce continued his litany, which was growing stronger by the second

"What's happ-ning?…wh'rre m'I? Whoo'rre yo-ou?"

"I'm John Watson, this is Rose Tyler, we're taking you somewhere safe."

"No!" Bruce slurred, and he suddenly lurched forward in a way that made Rose think he had tried to stand up, " V'gotta help…s'my fault, I've gotta, gotta help."

A hand on her shoulder and a weight leaning on her side made Rose's head snap around, as the Doctor twirled his ankles around to get blood back into them and regain his balance. His gaze was burning into Bruce, and John stood aside but didn't release his hold on the scientist.

"Bruce, I promised you that nobody would come to harm because of your DNA, and if I'm right in saying that that team of yours has found a way to prevent that -" the Doctor glanced up at Rose, who nodded in sharply, "Which I am, because they're all beautiful genius minds, then the best place for you is nice and safe on the Helicarrier, where you can get the drugs out of your system in a calm controlled space."

Bruce looked as if he wanted to argue, but his eyelids drooped and his head lolled, and once he was able to raise it again, he just nodded with a sigh, allowing John to hook his arms around his chest and raise him up and over the bed, so that his feet were resting on the ground.

"Come on, we need to leave." Rose said; she placed an arm out to offer support to the Doctor, but he brushed it off, exacting a twirl in the centre of the room and taking Bruce's hands to lever him into a standing position, which he was just about able to maintain with John's help.

Together, John and Bruce hobbled towards the door to the hall, Bruce swaying dangerously every now and again, but not seeming too bothered by it.

"So what's the rest of the plan?" the Doctor asked, clapping his hands together gleefully; he grabbed the sonic screwdriver from where the Master had left it to taunt him, "I assume you've put the Avengers out and about London to hold back the Hulk-people, so what else is going on?"

"Sherlock and Loki have gone to search the databases for information to send to the others, and then have a pop at the portal machine." John grunted as he tried to pull out his gun, but found himself unable with an armful of Bruce.

The Doctor's face fell, as Rose had thought it might, and the spring in his step faltered.

"Oh, don't look like that." She scolded him.

"I can't believe you let _those two_ wander off on their own!" the Doctor cried, ignoring the furious look that John shot him for breaking any illusion of covertness that they had held.

"I trust Sherlock, so they will do fine." John snapped, although he didn't meet the Doctor's gaze, instead increasing the pace of his stride, causing Bruce to stumble into his side.

Rose was about to back him up, for Loki's sake, when in some cruel trick of fate, the radio that she had slipped in her pocket let out a reedy whine. The Doctor and John ground to a halt and stared expectantly at her until she rolled her eyes and pressed the button on the side of the machine.

"_Rose-" _Captain America's voice rang urgently in the halls, "_We haven't heard anything about the locations of the hulk-people, the portal, or anything that might be of use. The Master hasn't shown his face yet, but that doesn't mean he won't strike without a warning."_

A feeling like a rock being dropped into her gut made Rose bite her lip and flit her eyes towards the ground. What the Hell were Loki and Sherlock doing?

To her relief, the Doctor answered the call.

"Afternoon Captain! This place is empty, so we can be pretty sure that the people are already out there and waiting for the trigger to be pulled – the Master was boasting about an electrical impulse system he installed in each victim, so the best bet is to rely on that antidote dispersal system you've got planned."

"_They told you about that already?"_

"Oh, no." the Doctor replied with a smug grin, "I'm just really clever at predicting you humans' cleverness. And don't worry about the portal, I'm sure the coordinates will get there soon, but hopefully I'll have disabled the machine itself before then. Toodle-oo!"

With that the Doctor switched off the radio, sticking it in his own pocket while Rose and John stared at him as if he were mad; Rose didn't know what else she had expected, but the Doctor seemed to think everything was fine, so she couldn't bring herself to be too anxious.

"You're going to find the machine then?" she verified, sighing as the Doctor nodded as if it were the simplest thing in the world, "and that means we're all staying a bit longer?"

"I'm not going anywhere until I've found out exactly what Sherlock's playing at!" John huffed, shaking his head as if scolding a detective that only he could see.

"What about getting Bruce away before he gets worked up enough to change?" Rose reminded the men as the Doctor marched himself past John, who turned, Bruce still attached to his side, to follow.

Bruce, who was still swaying, and visibly woozy, raised a hand to insist that "I can help, let me help!"

Letting Bruce hang around, just for him to panic later and change, destroying everything near-by, was not something that Rose wanted to happen. At all. But the Doctor kept walking, and John kept hoisting Bruce after him, and Rose had no choice but to catch up with them, and hope that Loki wasn't causing too much trouble. Wherever he had got to.

* * *

Tony was lounging atop the highest building on the London skyline. Truth be told, he was bored. Or he would be, I the unnatural quiet didn't skirt up his legs and wrap itself around his abdomen in a pithy reminder that danger could leap out at any moment.

He wondered what was going on, why the Master hadn't made some ridiculous grand-stand by now. It would have livened up the day, if nothing else. All he had to do at the moment was watch the stubborn homeless guys that were sticking firmly in their chosen spots.

Just as he sighed, the interior of his faceplate lit up, displaying a bunch of radio signals. Tony pushed the mainstream ones aside to listen to Steve's address, which was hasty and concise.

"_I've just been informed that the people that were taken are no longer in the building complex where Bruce was being kept, and that they could be triggered at any moment."_

It took only a fraction of a second for Tony to process the new information, straightening up and tensing, ready to move. Clint beat him to the verbal conclusion.

"_If the people that were taken were homeless, does that mean we've gotta watch out for these dudes that're loitering?"_

_"Yes, Barton, I'd bet you anything it's them." _Steve answered; Tony looked out across the city. Given where he was stationed, and where JARVIS was telling him to others were, there were hulk-people all over the place.

"Should we take them down now?" Tony asked, twisting his wrists in preparation for flight.

"_Absolutely not! Do not engage yet!" _Steve barked down the radio, loud enough to make Tony flinch, "_We need to try and close in on them."_

_"Where are the greatest concentrations?" _Natasha inquired.

"_East, nearer the river and the British parliament buildings – you know, that bridge and the clock tower, the famous ones that the English'll be really pissed if we break."_ Clint replied. The sound of movement, as if people were jogging filled Tony's ears, and he was thankful for the suit which made getting around easier.

"_Okay, everyone close in but don't get too close." _Steve ordered, and it sounded like he was running too; Tony tried not to imagine the image, but failed, "_Thor, you stay put, you're pretty much central anyway."_

_"I shall Captain – Donna and I have a clear view of this clock tower."_

Tony allowed himself to slip from the top of the building he was on, setting his thrusters as silent as they would go. Figuring that he had some time to spare, he began decoding the signals that he was getting.

"Hey guys," he alerted the others to his actions, "I'm getting the same data on all wavelengths, radio, TV, microwave – just gimme a minute and I'll open the files."

"_Is it important right now?"_ Clint asked snarkily, puffing into his radio as he must have been running.

"Hold on, I'll just…" finally the file opened on the interior of his helmet, but Tony wasn't sure what to make of it. It was a picture, definitely showing the grass area outside Big Ben – it must have been taken recently, as the roads surrounding it were free from traffic. The only thing out of place was a large, lumpy bundle, wrapped in filthy cloth, that sprawled in the centre of the grass.

"Okay, it's a picture of the park thing outside Big Ben, but there's a sort of…lumpy thing in the middle."

"_Tony, are you sure this is important?" _Steve reiterated Clint's previous demand, and Tony had to stop himself throwing back an insult.

"It's a picture being broadcast on _every_ wavelength – so YEAH, I think it's important!" Tony snapped, "Iron Man can't fly in there without causing too much attention. Romanov, are you close enough to take a look?"

"_Give me ten minutes and I'll check out your scary lumpy thing." _She answered dryly.

"Thank you." Tony put on his sweetest voice, and lowering his altitude, brought himself nearer to the line of buildings. There were more open spaces here, and he could just about see Clint sprinting over rooftops on the horizon.

Now all there was to do was wait, for Bruce to be taken to safety, for word that everything had been disabled at the root, and for Hell to break loose.

* * *

Loki watched as Sherlock propped up the half-naked man. It was both fascinating and disgusting, the way the man's body was marred, and yet looked to be knitting itself back together as he rambled in his slurred accent to the detective, who to his credit seemed about as concerned as Loki himself did.

They had found him, hanging by his hands in the next room they had entered after Sherlock had swept to the computer terminals and inserted a stick into the core. Apparently that would download all of the information they needed, and hack it at the same time – leaving him time to hunt down Moriarty.

But the detective, human as he was, had been unable to show complete disregard for the broken man hanging and torn, and with a groan and a roll of his eyes, had stormed in, releasing him from his bonds, and berating him for wasting his precious time.

"You know, you could have waited Harkness – it's not like you wouldn't heal later, you're immortal for God's sake."

"Has anyone ever told you you're a bit of an ass?" Harkness replied coldly, rubbing at his wrists as he fell to the floor.

"I heard at least three people call him that before we left the Helicarrier." Loki remarked, smirking down at the wounded man. Harkness looked up at him through bloodshot eyes.

"What the Hell are you supposed to be?" he snapped, taking in Loki's leather adornments and peaky complexion.

Loki moved forward as if to strangle him, a burst of indignation flaring up; he forced himself to inhale through his nose and right himself, flexing his hands nonetheless.

Sherlock growled as he tried once again to drag Harkness to his feet, rolling his eyes at Loki as if to criticise his behaviour. Once Harkness was standing, Sherlock moved away, pushing past Loki to hover by the door.

"Now Harkness, I recommend to head towards the back of the building where with any luck you should find Rose and John with their unlucky rescued prisoners." The detective reeled off condescendingly, "I have more important things to be doing than escorting you out."

With that he swept from the room, and his footsteps echoed down the hall.

"It would be best if you did not follow us." Loki warned, glaring at the still bare man. Jack shook his head and let out a bitter laugh.

"I wasn't planning to."

"Good."

Loki cocked his head upwards, turning on his heel and leaving Harkness behind him. To his displeasure, he was forced to quicken his pace to catch up with the tail of Sherlock's coat, which whipped around the corner as he caught sight of it.

As he rounded the bend, Loki almost barrelled straight into the back of Sherlock, who had frozen, his eyes fixed on the pool of light that filtered from beneath the crack of the farthest door, behind which sounded a low, swinging tune, and a human whistle, humming along.

* * *

Rose watched, growing more and more frustrated the longer the Doctor banged and rattled the hefty machine, that took up most of the large meeting room that it had been installed in, it's lights and levers shining against the dull steel finish.

John was also getting angrier and angrier, pacing back and forth, his gun in his hand, after depositing Bruce on the ground by the door. Bruce too was becoming more and more lucid, and as a result, more and more tense, and more and more at risk of exploding.

"The Master's deadlocked it!" the Doctor yelled, aiming a violent kick at the machine, "There's nothing I can do, just wait for the coordinates so that Jane can cancel the portal out."

"Will that definitely work?" Rose asked, hoping for anything to distract herself from the fact that the Master's plan was going pretty well, and Loki _still_ hadn't come back yet.

"Of course it will – big machine like this, it's a powerful tool, but they have to pick a location and stick with it." The Doctor assured her, reeling off words the way he did when he was explaining for things his brain had already tracked over, "A small machine like Jane's, it's manoeuvrable."

"So is everything good…are we all alright to go now?" Bruce slurred, looking stiltedly between the Doctor and Rose. The Doctor shrugged, and Rose took that to mean, 'please check the radio'.

"Steve, have you got all the information yet?"

"_Nope, it'd be great if you guys hurried up with that, we're getting antsy over here." _Steve replied.

"_SHERLOCK!"_ John growled, running his hands through his hair; Rose had to admit, her feelings regarding Loki were fraying to a similar state. It was clear now that they had completely abandoned whatever semblance of a plan had been in place.

If the team failed because those two had wandered off, it would be a close call whether it would be Rose or John behind bars.

"We need to get Bruce out…" the Doctor was muttering. The radio bleeped again, and Steve's voice crackled through.

"_Someone's broadcasting suspicious images on all wavelengths; Natasha's checking it out, but you should keep listening just in case."_

"Great, that's just great!" John snarled, shaking his head despairingly, "What else could happen today? Honestly?"

"Oh, never ask that John, never ever ask that." The Doctor said seriously.

John was prevented from answering back as Natasha's voice rang out.

_"I'm approaching the object…it looks like…something's wrapped up…" _there was the sound of rustling, a loud thump, and then Natasha was back on, her voice strained and desperate, "_It's the Master – the Master is dead, I repeat-"_

A chorus of voices clashed over the radio, and John and Bruce froze; the Doctor's voice was loudest of all.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE MASTER'S DEAD?" he yelled, snatching the radio from Rose, who made no move to resist him, "HE CAN'T BE-"

"_The Master's dead Doctor- "_ Natasha repeated, _"The game's changed, Moriarty's gone rogue!"_

* * *

Sherlock forgot that Loki was standing just inches behind him. It didn't matter; he wouldn't stop him, and if worst came to worse, he would have no problem killing Moriarty rather than dragging him in to suffer 'justice'.

So the detective pulled out his gun and held it ahead of him. This would be quick, and it would be over. He marched down the hall and kicked the door open, bursting into the warmly lit office.

And then he froze. It was like his nightmares, standing before him. He should have shot him, but there he was. Moriarty, sitting behind his desk, feet up, whistling along to a slow Jazz tune. The moment he saw Sherlock, he smiled like a shark, it never met his eyes, he flicked his computer and the music stopped, and he rose to his feet.

It was as if he were choking; Sherlock couldn't find the words, couldn't make his finger fold on the trigger.

And then he felt Loki enter the room behind him, close the door, stand but say nothing, and the small comfort of someone, anyone there gave Sherlock the push to readjust his hands around the gum and glare hatefully at the man that had haunted him.

"Before I kill you, you're going to explain to me, for posterity's sake, what you thought you were going to do before I stopped you." He said slowly, never taking his eyes off of the merciless grin and the swaggering shoulders. He tried to not flinch when Moriarty inched forward.

He tutted, "Oh, Sherlock, Sherlock Sherlock _Sherlock_ …hello to you too. It's adorable that you think you're going to kill me, and you brought a _friend_ for moral support – how lovely."

He heard Loki exhale furiously behind him, but Sherlock didn't drop the gun; he was dismayed at how his hands shook around it, but couldn't show Moriarty how he was affected.

"Tell me what you have planned!" he demanded, and his stomach churned as Moriarty chuckled, laughed, giggled, bore his eyes into him.

"What have I always wanted Sherlock, but to be entertained." Moriarty cooed; the insanity of before, of the rooftop, had reached staggering levels, and practically radiated from his every pore, "I want to watch this world _burn_ – there's nothing worth my time here, you've ruined my life, the lot of you. And then I'll move on."

Sherlock nodded minutely, soaking in the fact that Moriarty was just as insane, just as horrific as he had ever been. How he had ever been fascinated by this man, Sherlock would never know.

"Thank you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to shoot you in the head." He stated. He didn't.

Moriarty laughed again, shaking his head and pretending to wipe a tear from his eye; then he snapped, and his eyes were dark and his face cold as he looked over Sherlock's shoulder.

"No you won't. What you're going to do is stand aside and keep your mouth shut like a good little boy." Moriarty instructed, dismissing him with a wave of his hand, "While I have a word with your Asgardian friend."

Sherlock couldn't make himself move, couldn't make his brain catch up, as Loki brushed him aside with a sweep of his arm and stood before Moriarty. Sherlock's dropped his arms, the finger falling from the trigger as he watched, thin lipped, as the god glared down at the Irishman, his expression giving nothing away.

"And what would you have to discuss with one such as me, _mortal_?" Loki drawled, and Sherlock hoped, he prayed that this was the calm before the storm.

Moriarty beamed a deadly beam.

"I have a proposition for you."

Fear spiked up Sherlock's back as a smirk, a wicked, malicious smirk crept up Loki's face, leading his lips to his cheek.

Before he could react, Loki had raised his left arm, and he was flying backwards, his back hitting the wall behind him as if a truck had barrelled into him and was pinning him a foot off the ground. Sherlock gasped for breath as an invisible force pressed at his throat, light enough that he didn't suffocate, hard enough to hurt.

Loki spared him only a fleeting glance, which spoke nothing of kindness, or the brief camaraderie they had shared.

"Go on…" he drawled.

It occurred to Sherlock, far too late, that he had made a huge mistake.

* * *

**I have to admit, for an British lass, my knowledge of London is extremely limited, so please excuse the blatant vagueness of my setting**

**Otherwise, enjoy this ridiculously long chapter**


	26. Will he?

**Disclaimer: Nothing here belongs to me, it's all BBC and Marvel owned**

* * *

Sherlock clutched at his throat, wheezing as the air forced itself in and out of his windpipe. He knew that it was pointless, but the damned reptilian part of his brain wouldn't let go of the desperate need to try and survive; not that he was going to die.

Loki's hold on him was painful and violent, but he had not killed him. Yet.

He could only observe (while chills crept up and down his steadily numbing spine), hanging a foot above the ground, suspended by the unstoppable force of Loki's magic, as the god strode, arm extended in his direction, towards the madman that had almost ruined his life, a cold, devious smirk curling his lips.

Moriarty ambled back around his hyperbolic and grand desk, swinging his feet up to rest on his papers, and bringing his hands together beneath his vicious, self-satisfied grin.

Sherlock caught a shadow passing over Loki's face at the action, but it was gone before he could have even hoped to analyse it. The detective was certain that Moriarty must have seen it…If not, he was so wrapped up in his own delusions than he had dared to expect.

"I said…_go on_." Loki hissed, on the cusp of restrained disgust and malevolent interest, "Do not allow your power among your pathetic kind to misinform your behaviour in my presence."

Moriarty chuckled darkly, his dead eyes lighting as only they could, making Sherlock's blood run cold as he addressed the Asgardian. Sherlock knew that _he_ couldn't have done it; the scuttling but proud figure of before had been transfigured into an imposing, dark presence whose power practically crackled in the air.

Moriarty had a death wish…or he knew something they didn't.

"_Oh_…don't give me that 'almighty god' routine," Moriarty tutted, rolling his eyes; Loki's face contorted with rage, but he sucked it in as Moriarty continued, though he was unable to hide the trembling fury in his raised hand, "I know exactly how powerful you are – that's _why_ I waited here for you to come to me. But don't pretend that you are anything more than a man…" Moriarty continued, and then as if as an afterthought, "and an ally."

Sherlock tried to curse, to shout at Moriarty, or to knock some sense into Loki, but all that came out was a rasping groan and a heaving cough. Moriarty's eyes flickered towards him, but Loki didn't waver, in fact, flexing his fingers, loosening and then tightening the hold on the detective's throat.

"An ally?" he breathed, and then the knowing smirk returned and Loki rolled his shoulders in contempt, "I see…why would I ally with the foot-soldier when the Master hasn't even the grace to bargain himself?"

Once again, Moriarty's face split into the manic, insane grin, his eyes bulging, and he let out a chilling, vindictive laugh that pierced the very walls. An icy, plunging sensation clawed at Sherlock's guts as he recognised the tone that promised that a whole world of plans had yet to be revealed.

As Moriarty brought his laboured breaths under control in an unnatural snap from frantic to deadly, Loki glanced momentarily at the detective, his quirked eyebrow the only sign that he wasn't completely on top of events.

Sherlock would've offered words of suggestion…if he hadn't been choking in the air.

"The _Master_…" Moriarty sneered, "The _Master_…he was _nothing_, he placed too much trust in his accomplices…he had no…_vision_."

"As a Timelord of Gallifrey the _Master_ is already a god amongst your kind _mortal_." Loki sneered, and it seemed as if a sharp breeze whipped past him in his indignation.

In his indignation, Sherlock realised before him which tense Moriarty had spoken in.

Moriarty spared him another vibrant frown, a wonky, flickering smirk morphing his lips as he scanned the detective scrabbling at the invisible hand around his throat. He then fixed his gaze on the god.

"Loki, Loki, Loki…" he shook his head as he uttered; Loki's chest heaved, as if he were holding in his anger at the disrespect that was wafting his way; Moriarty's expression hardened, "The Master is dead. Your _god_ was weak, and I disposed of him."

Loki's eyes widened fractionally, and Sherlock ceased struggling, actually holding his breath.

"_Disposed of?" _Loki inquired; if not for infinitesimal motions, he would have appeared completely unconcerned. He did not step forward, he didn't have to. His presence filled the room, darkening and weighting the air with his magic and vacillating anger.

"I stepped up behind him, and I slit his throat." Moriarty said plainly, and Sherlock expected it, the coldness, but it still made him queasy when he thought of how close he had once got to the man, "I don't think he even realised what I had done until I was thrusting the knife in again, to make sure he _couldn't_ regenerate." Moriarty's eyes burned icily as they bored into the god of mischief, "_Weak..._but _you_ have something that I need."

"And what would that be?" Loki whispered, raising his chin to look down at the psychopath. His face had returned to the placid intrigue, and any hope that Sherlock had held faded.

"_Power_" Moriarty practically salivated, "Your _power_ and your _mind_…the Master was intelligent, he provided the knowledge and the technology for me, unbeknownst to him, but he was nothing more than a tool…_you_…you could be a valued ally."

"Why would I ally myself with something as _lowly_ as _you_?" Loki snarled, and Sherlock hissed at the increased pressure on his throat, "If you believe me to have such _power_, why would I waste it on your petty human schemes?"

Moriarty didn't flinch.

"Because unlike the Master, I have _vision_." He described, his eyes never wavering, "He wanted to destroy, to watch the world burn and die when he met someone strong enough to squash his army. _Me…_ I want to be entertained, I want to make the world _dance_ in the flames…" he seemed to rise and contort, "and _you_ God of Mischief… you _understand _that – I know the legends, I saw the carnage you brought to New York…You could kill me in under a second, just flick your wrist and I'd be dead – but you _won't, _because I _understand_ your nature, and you _will _ally yourself with me."

Sherlock wished, _prayed_ that John was making progress with the machine. He could stop this, even if Moriarty, or Loki for that matter, choked him to death in this scant room. In fact, all that he could think of was John – John, and the fact that _everyone _was at risk.

He had never really cared before – not truly – but if anyone could slaughter the entirety of the human race, it would be Moriarty. And when he thought about it, Sherlock really didn't want to human race to die.

After what could have been an eternity, Loki's vicious smirk reappeared, and Sherlock's couldn't see the glint in his eyes, but he could practically taste it in his tone.

"So…you understand me…" he drawled, "Tell me then how your scheme differs from the Master's plans for mindless destruction. I believe that under his command the monsters were to destroy Midgard, and then Asgard, and then whichever planet his deluded mind carried them to next – yet you have _vision_ that he does not – explain _that_ to me!"

Moriarty beamed, a stiff grin that pulled his lips back, revealing his bared teeth.

"I don't want destruction, I want to be _entertained_ – Earth has nothing left for me, but it will be fun to watch people try to stop my monsters…I have the power to control them in my hands, a trigger, and stopper – the Master inserted telepathic chips in their brains so that they will _follow my every order!"_ Moriarty exulted, and Loki's expression didn't waver, he merely watched with disdain as the madman explained; Sherlock was torn between horror and relief that Loki's grip on his throat loosened ever so slightly, "And then I will go to Asgard – oh _Asgard!_, all those aliens with such power, such _abilities_…watching them will entertain me far more than anything _here_," he spat scornfully, and then concluded, "and that is why you will help me, to get back at _them_, and for mischief."

Loki scoffed, and the pressure on Sherlock's throat increased once more; he had no idea what the god was going to do. If it had been anyone else, he was sure that Loki would have turned them to ash for their impudence…but _Moriarty_, he had the ability, and now that tools, to succeed.

"_You_, a _mortal_, wish to rule Asgard?" Loki's voice filled with hateful mirth.

Moriarty shook his head, scowling as if disappointed.

"_No_, that's not what I said. _You_ can rule Asgard – that's your motivation for helping me, a little piece of nostalgia." He scolded, "No, no, no…I want to be _entertained_. My monsters will beat the Aeseir down, place us in command, and then I will have the _gods_, dance for me – they can fight the beasts, fight for their realm, or they can do the smart thing and wait until I have them fight among themselves. Either way, they will all die…they'll just believe they have a chance to live."

If Sherlock had been frightened before (and he was sure that apart from the times when John was missing, he had _never_ been this frightened), he realised that that had been nothing compared to now. Moriarty could do it, he could.

And Loki wasn't moving. His face was hard to read, turned away, lit only by the mediocre lamps in Moriarty's office. The fingers on his extended arm were flexing, alternating the pressure on the detective's throat, and his breathing was controlled.

"You want to slaughter the gods?" Loki breathed tonelessly; Moriarty grinned wickedly, as if he had already won, "Every single one of them?"

"I thought that was what you wanted – to revenge yourself upon them." Moriarty replied dully, his joy never sinking, "You may pretend to aid these _Avengers_, but we all know that nobody can trust the god of deceit."

A sardonic smirk flickered on Loki's face, and he continued to stare at the man slouched before him. Silence stretched between them, and then Loki spoke again, business-like.

"You realise that the _Avengers_ have found a way to eliminate the portal you hope to open." He verified in a superior, airy tone.

Sherlock thought it rich that he didn't mention his own substantial part in that particular weapon. He also hoped that Loki wouldn't mention the formula. It was obvious that they had lost the god, if not to Moriarty, then at least in the sense that he chose neither side.

"Of course I do!" Moriarty retorted, affronted, "I made sure before the Master that we had covered any weaknesses. That machine cannot be shut down without the controls, which are Isomorphically linked to _me_ and I'm not stupid enough to open just the one portal." He boasted drearily as if he were sick of the world and its dragging nature, "I'm going to tear portals open all over London – there's no way that SHIELD scientists have the technology to tackle _that_." Sherlock grudgingly admitted to himself that that was true, "Some of my monsters will go ahead to Asgard and break down the defences, and when Earth has been completely destroyed…_the rest will follow, and Asgard will fall!"_

"Very well planned." Loki conceded, his only indication that he was impressed was the slight inclination of his head.

"Yes." Moriarty agreed, and then rose to his feet, striding around his desk to stand face to face with the god, though his head only came half-way up Loki's chin, "So do we have an arrangement? You accompany me, and I will explain the rest of my plans and their execution."

He extended his hand, inviting him to shake it and seal the deal.

Sherlock gasped for breath, and he tried to wheeze out protests. Moriarty threw him a dirty look, but Loki glared down at the madman.

And then Loki's face lit up maliciously, and he extended his free hand, taking Moriarty's in his.

"I accept your terms." He drawled, and then his pleasure turned dangerous, "But remember your _place_, or I will not regret breaking our truce." He loomed over the shorter man, but Moriarty just scoffed and shouldered past him, heading towards the door.

"That can be arranged during our discussions." He replied sharply, the insanity vacant save for the manic coldness in his eyes as he nodded at Sherlock's writhing form, "Finish him. I no longer require his meddling to keep me from shooting myself."

With that Moriarty left them alone, the footsteps clicking along the hall proving that he was gone.

Sherlock met Loki's gaze and the rush of fear was back. He had no idea what he was thinking, his expression was closed off and dangerous, malicious. The pressure at his throat increased, choking him as Loki stepped towards him, moving in uncomfortably close and bearing down on him.

Sherlock heard his own gargling, strangled sounds, and his fingers scrabbled uselessly at his neck, trying to pry away something that wasn't there.

Loki stepped back suddenly, and the force pinning the detective to the wall disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Sherlock crumpled to the floor, gasping for air, clutching at his chest. When he looked up at the god, Loki gave him one last lingering stare.

And then he was gone, sweeping from the room in Moriarty's wake, leaving Sherlock gasping in the corner of the office, terrified and confused, his mind whirling in a thousand directions. One thought made it to the front of his mind; he had to find John – and find him with the information that had been promised.

It wouldn't do to be killed by his flatmate when he had just been spared by the god that was quite probably going to kill them all.

* * *

**Oh dear, Loki's gone rogue.**

**Here's a short chapter. I can't write much more this week as I've got to revise for a week of mock exams next week.**

**But, we are drawing to some kind of climax, so there's that to look forward to**


	27. It Begins with a Hum

**Disclaimer: not mine**

* * *

Bruce's head was beginning to clear. There were fewer patches of black, less fuzzing silences, and he was able to keep a steady grip of lucidity. Which was very bad. Because the more aware he became, the more his heart-rate skipped, and the more and more antsy he became.

As he watched the Doctor skitter around the heavy steel mass, poking and prodding and cursing under his breath, John pacing furiously, muttering something about Sherlock, and Rose standing to the side, her expression schooled and pinched, tapping at the watch on her wrist, the trepidation grew.

The guilt was peaking, the panic and self-loathing expanding within his chest. It was all his fault. Bruce had been awake enough to hear what the others had been saying. His DNA had made more monsters, more people had been mutilated and they were going to kill even more. And now…he should have said no, he should have been taken straight back to the Helicarrier and put somewhere safe until he calmed down.

But he had let them lead him to the middle of the complex, where none of the horrific truths could be hidden from him, and he was getting anxious. He was getting so anxious, and he was terrified that he was going to explode. Explode, and hurt one of them, or someone else in the middle of the city.

And to make it worse – he couldn't leave. Lucid he may have been, but going on the weightiness of his limbs, and the whirling in his gut, Bruce didn't think he was capable of navigating the unfamiliar base, finding the hidden jet, and surviving the flight back on his own without the confusion stressing him to the point of release.

Bruce caught himself jumping, forcing himself to take deep breaths, as the door that had been carefully held shut with a fire extinguisher was thrown open, and the consulting detective practically fell through the gap in his hurry to get in.

Over the sound of John storming across the room, yelling and demanding to know where the hell Sherlock had been, and Sherlock's snipped and gambolling explanations that didn't make much sense from where Bruce was sitting, the scientist was unable to decipher the Doctor's weary remonstrations, and could only just make out Rose asking where Loki had gone with a disappointed yet hopeful façade flooding her features.

Bruce decided that it would be better, and far easier, to stay slumped where he was and listen to the fallout of whatever had obviously gone wrong.

"I've wiped the databases, but we can't block the portal – you need to shut it down from here." Sherlock gasped, gesturing stiltedly towards the humming metal device in the centre of the room. He swept Rose and the Doctor aside as he stepped forward, only glancing sheepishly at John before clearing his throat and clocking eyes with Bruce, nodding in acknowledgement.

"I _can't _shut it down from here!" The Doctor argued, "and what do you mean we can't block the portal? I've been hearing wonderful things about Miss Foster's device."

Sherlock shook his head, and was visibly trying to avoid making eye contact with anyone for longer than a few seconds.

"The machine opens multiple portals, all across London, and they're sending half of the Hulk-creatures through to Asgard while the other half destroy the city." The detective explained, dragging his bottom lip though his teeth in the only show of nerves that Bruce had seen the man perform. That didn't bode well.

The Doctor's expression became closed off, and without another word he adjusted his hands on his screwdriver and turned his back on the group, marching to the machine, the hum from which had slowly crept up into a rumbling buzz that made the floor underneath Bruce's feet vibrate.

He needed to get out. This wasn't good, and thanks to the drugs still crawling through his system, he didn't think he'd have the power to control the Other Guy should he break free.

John on the other hand didn't appear to be making any effort to keep his temper in check. He was dragging in ragged breaths through his nose, but the pinching of the bridge of his nose that had been taking place minutes before had ceased and he was gesturing angrily in Sherlock's face.

The detective tilted his face down so that the doctor could address him head on, and looked genuinely sorry; not that that made him make any move towards apologising.

"_Sherlock_, I let you and Loki go on the basis that you'd be smart, _you know_, be the genius that you make sure we never forget you are – where _the hell_ have you been‽" John demanded, his voice lowering to a growl, "You should have been back _ages ago_! What if it's too late – oh, but that doesn't matter, because Sherlock's gone and done whatever it was that he deemed so important-"

"I went after Moriarty." Sherlock snapped, glancing upwards as the Doctor let out a shout and the sound of a shoe colliding with steel reverberated within the space; ignoring the look of disbelief that his flatmate wore, he called out to the Doctor, "He said it was Isomorphic!"

The Doctor growled under his breath and muttered something, disappearing behind the machine, but Bruce couldn't make out what he had said.

John gaped for a moment, and shook his head. Rose took that moment to step forward, which was enough to make Sherlock step back, maintaining the space between them.

"Where's _Loki_?" she repeated, half-way between dangerous and worried. Sherlock shook his head, as if collecting his thoughts, but John cut off his attempt at an answer.

"You know I honestly trusted you to just do the right thing for once, and you go after _Moriarty, _ that _madman_, and now you've lost the nutter that we've been trying to keep locked up." John yelled, slapping the back of his hand against Sherlock's chest.

"_Hey_, he's not a nutter!" Rose barked, but John ignored her.

"So what _have_ you been doing while we've been here trying to prevent a catastrophe?"

Sherlock growled under his breath, but met John's glare with a steady, piercing one of his own.

"We found Moriarty, and yes, I'll admit, with hindsight, that wasn't clever, but I _did_ discover that he is the only one that can stop the portals from opening, and that he has complete remote control over the Hulk-creatures, so we shouldn't waste time _here_." Sherlock hissed, his eyes never leaving John's as he spoke, only lifting to nod sympathetically to Rose before providing an explanation, "Moriarty made him an offer, and Loki accompanied him as he left."

Rose shook her head frantically, even as John huffed and muttered something about '_I told you so'_, her hair flying as her expression pinched.

"No, I know he's a bit hard to handle but he _wouldn't, _not while I'm here waiting for him." She insisted.

Sherlock gave a small shrug and a quirk of his eyebrow, before replying sardonically.

"It might comfort you to know that though he abandoned you, he chose not to kill _me_."

"_Great_…" Rose sighed, closing her eyes and bringing her hands up to rest her head in.

Bruce had to force himself to take deep breaths, to keep himself as calm as possible. He wanted to storm across the room, demand to know just what they had been thinking, letting Loki loose, giving him the chance to try and take over the world _again_. But with the sluggishness that still lingered in the back of his mind, and the dull weight in his limbs, Bruce knew that it would be a push too far, and stayed slumped where he was, watching the Doctor reappear and stride over to interrogate the detective.

"Tell me Sherlock, what did Moriarty promise to get Loki to agree to join him?" The Doctor asked coldly, a twisted smirk curling the edge of his cheek. Rose shot him a pained look, but he ignored her in favour of waving a hand in Sherlock's direction.

Sherlock cleared his throat, sparing a momentary glance to John; he avoided meeting Rose's gaze, as if afraid that should he see her face he would be plagued with guilt.

"Moriarty described his plans to destroy the Earth, for…_entertainment_…and then that he would turn the slaughter of the Asgardians into some kind of sport – and that he would be happy to allow Loki to act as ruler." He explained.

It was as if Bruce's stomach had increased density, dipping and sinking into the pit of his abdomen. Deep breaths. Just deep breaths, and then everything would be fine, and he could hide away on the Helicarrier until it was all over.

He would not allow himself to add to the already inevitable destruction.

Bruce hadn't realised that he had allowed his head to drop, but when he raised his eyes once more, it was to see the Doctor nodding solemnly, John stood back from the detective, hand gripping his chin in frustration, and Rose, arms wrapped tightly around herself, looking lost but turning her head determinedly to follow the strain of conversation.

"I see…" the Doctor said almost to himself; then with an unexpected burst of energy, he clapped his hands together gleefully and made as if to run back to the machine, the noise from which had grown to an almighty whirring, that sent tangible pulses through Bruce's skin. He was certain that it was making everyone else as uncomfortable as it was him.

Rose inhaled deeply, and then, her face set, shoulders squared, interrupted whatever spiel the Doctor was reeling off; Bruce was too tired, to agitated, to everything to pay much heed to the man's ramblings. True, he had been a great comfort when the experiments were taking place, but he was as insane as Loki when he got going.

"Okay…so we can't stop the machine, and the monsters could go at any moment." Rose summed up, extending her hands in a so-so motion, "What's the plan?"

"We need to shut _that_ down!" Sherlock remonstrated, striding towards the machine until the Doctor threw out an arm and halted his progress, "Can't we just blow it up?"

"No…we can't blow it up." the Doctor drew out his answer, as if mulling it over.

"What we need to do is forget about the portals," John interjected; he was still angry, but his ingrained sense of duty seemed enough to make him keep a lid on it and think logically, "We need to call the others and warn them about the monsters – if we release the formula then this is over before it even began."

"We can't just release the formula, it might be too early and we could miss them!" Sherlock replied, biting the inside of his cheek, "We can't do anything until they're transformed, and then the formula will only work if the others can keep them in one area."

The bickering was grating. Subject matter aside, the uselessness, the waste of time was enough to set Bruce's teeth on edge.

"You need to call Rogers and tell him what's happening." Bruce called, and the others fell silent. If he hadn't known any better, he'd have said that they'd forgotten he was there.

"Look," He continued, "They need to know what's going on, they need to be on guard…and you need to get me out of here, because I don't know how much longer I can hold on, and I'm starting to get a headache."

To his relief, Sherlock nodded and hummed in agreement, and Rose tread lightly to his side, hoisting him gently upright to compensate for the slouch that he hadn't realised had occurred.

The Doctor rushed to his other side and helped to lift Bruce to his feet, swinging the scientist's arm over his shoulder. It was awkward given their heights, but Bruce welcomed the solidity, and found that he was just about able to hobble stably with assistance.

"Sherlock, radio Steve and fill him in." The Doctor instructed; Sherlock grimaced at the Timelord's assumption of leadership, but a glare from John shut him up, and he retreated to the edge of the room, pulling a radio from his belt and mumbling incoherently into it, "John, I'm going to need you to radio the jet, let them know we're on our way." John nodded and mirrored Sherlock's actions; the Doctor turned to Rose (making Bruce stumble as he was ungainly turned), and whatever his expression held, it made the woman shake her head.

"No." she said swiftly, "No, whatever you're about to say, I know that look in your eyes, and no."

"Rose, need someone to stay here and keep trying to turn the machine off." The Doctor placated her, unsuccessfully if the pursing of her lips were anything to go by, "I'm not keeping you out of the way, it just needs doing."

"Then have John stay, or _Sherlock_!" Rose raised her voice, and out of the corner of his eye Bruce saw both Sherlock and John turn towards the sound, and then move together to whisper in each other's ears.

The Doctor huffed, and Bruce feared for a moment that he was going to drop him, but the hands around his waist tightened before he could more than tilt to the left.

"They're armed, you're not – I need _you_ here working on this." The Doctor stressed; his face softened as Rose refused to break eye contact, "I'll make sure they don't hurt Loki."

Rose's shoulders sagged, and she glanced over her shoulder at the whirring machine, a pensive dullness in her eyes. Exhaling loudly, she turned back.

"Fine, I'll stay here."

"Good-o!" the Doctor snapped back into a façade of cheer, and with a jaunty flick of the wrist, flung his screwdriver at her; she caught it in both hands, and looked questioningly back at him, "You'll need this – tear it apart if you have to, just make it stop."

Rose nodded and said nothing more as she strode towards the machine. As the Doctor led him towards John and Sherlock at the door, Bruce watched the way that she eyed up the metal hulk, walking around it, and then back again, sizing it up.

The detective's voice made him focus in on the fact that they were moving, stumbling and hobbling through the barely lit halls, John toting his pistol in the lead while the Doctor shook his head disdainfully and Sherlock talked smoothly.

"Rogers was a little irritable with me," Sherlock was explaining, and Bruce found that he didn't have a hard time imagining why, "They've found the Master's body-"

It took a great amount of effort to stop himself from hurtling forwards as the Doctor froze, but Bruce managed it.

"The Master's…he's not dead? He _can't be_ – it's just us-"

"He's dead Doctor, and there are far more important things to worry about now." Sherlock scolded distastefully, picking up his pace once more with a scowl across his lips.

"I agree…we can all be sad when I'm locked away – alright?" Bruce felt the need to jump in there, and as if the Doctor were just then remembering the man that he was supporting, he began walking, although the way that he dragged the scientist was nowhere near as gentle.

"As I was saying…" Sherlock continued, as if nothing had occurred, "They think that they've discovered the mutated people – the homeless that were taken from the streets, hanging around when everyone else is tucked up indoors. Now Rogers is just waiting for something to happen."

The Doctor didn't answer, and one look at his face showed a grim image.

The four of them walked in silence through the halls; Bruce felt that someone should speak, that the guards were gone, and that _something_ needed to fill the space. He had wanted silence when he had been strapped down and made to listen to his victims' screams as his DNA tortured them, but now it was too much.

It was John that broke the tension, never looking back as he led the way, Sherlock at his side, but the emotion in his voice was enough.

"I'm sorry Doctor…about the Master."

Beside him, Bruce felt more than heard the Doctor exhale exhaustedly.

"So am I."

* * *

They had closed the perimeter as much as they could whilst still keeping all the suspect homeless they had identified in their sights. They were all nearer the Thames now, but no further away from the buildings where people were most probably hiding. It was still to large an area, but Steve could just about see Tony in the distance, the sinking sun glinting warmly off of the gold in his suit.

He ensured that the radio channel was kept open, so he could hear Clint and Natasha talking in hushed tones, but nobody commented. They were talking about the Master, discussing between them what might be happening, how their strategy would have to change. Possibly, in their own encrypted way, offering each other words of comfort.

Steve couldn't tell. He could hear Thor and Donna conversing, but the god had clearly had the sense to turn the radio in his ear away from his mouth, so that it didn't cause difficulties. Tony was unusually quiet, definitely shaken by the realisation that the game had changed.

And it _was_ scary. Sherlock's message had been heard by all of them. The portals, portals _plural_ were going to open, and there was no way to stop that. The hulk-mutants could turn at any moment, so Steve was on edge, keeping his eyes on at least four at any given moment; he didn't want to imagine what the others were thinking.

And the intent had changed. The Master's aims were simple – destroy and move on. That was fightable, that was an opposable threat. They could deal with someone whose desires were as flimsy and uncommitted as that.

But Moriarty…he wanted something, and he was dangerous, insane to the point of mental invincibility. And he'd got Loki on side. They had barely managed to defeat Loki once before, but _now_…Steve didn't know if they could do it again. Not with so much to fight at once.

Thor had railed, insisted that it was not true, half-heartedly bringing himself to a stop, trailing off as he realised that Sherlock wouldn't lie. He was one of the few people that had taken a shine to Loki, if it could be called that.

With everything else that was going on, Steve could have done without mentally berating himself for trusting the God of Mischief. It was just a good thing that Donna was there to offer comforting words to Thor, so that _he_ didn't feel that he had to.

Steve caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and turned his head sharply so that he could watch. He had been perched at the edge of the square for a while, and the only movement he had witnessed had been the sluggish and shifty slumming of the homeless people that had remained stubbornly, or suspiciously, behind.

He observed for a few minutes. They people, those that he could see, sort of…stumbling, moving towards the edges of the alleys that they were sheltering in. All of them had raised their hands to their heads, squeezing their faces as if experiencing extreme pain. One had even doubled over.

It was happening.

"Everyone pay attention." Steve said swiftly, hushed into his radio, pressing his hand to his ear to ensure that extraneous noise wouldn't interfere, "I think they're turning – keep an eye on them and be ready to fight – try and push them into the centre of out perimeter!"

"_I think you might be right Cap – these hobos are acting like they caught spontaneous cramps."_ Tony's voice filtered through, and Steve tried not to shake his head.

"_It's the same here."_ Natasha reported.

"_And here – I've got quite a lot," _Clint noted, "_If anyone wants to trade places with me I'd be cool with that."_

_"It should not be difficult for me to take on many so long as Donna remains hidden." _Thor interjected.

"Okay guys, just keep a clear head and watch your backs." Steve rose to his feet, adjusting his shield on his arm as his eyes narrowed in on the still writhing men across from him, "Donna is to stay out of the way – it sounds like they've got Bruce away safely – just…don't let 'em get any further into the city."

Even as Steve spoke, a ripping, tortured scream, tore through the air, and morphed into a furious roar…followed by another.

* * *

Sherlock wasn't sure about letting John be the first to kick open the door to the outside. He was certain that there was no longer any threat, that Moriarty's minions had vacated the premises…but the underlying fear was still there.

That, and he was beginning to worry about Bruce, who was panting from exertion. It was too soon after being sedated for so long to expect him to do much physical activity, and the Doctor was doing a lot to support his weight, but the scientist had kept asking questions, as if to reassure himself of his own guilt.

And if that wasn't enough to raise a heart rate Sherlock didn't know what was.

The detective held the door open as the Doctor led Bruce through, wincing as the harsh Thames air whipped at his face. It was getting late into the afternoon, and the weather was punishing them for it.

As the door swung shut, John hadn't moved forward into the open space, instead, standing cautiously a mere foot away. The Doctor had stopped too, but had yet to speak. Sherlock moved in beside his flatmate, examining the area as he did.

It was weeded and sparse, as was usual with these riverside warehouse complexes, but there was something too…clean about it. He couldn't put his finger on it, but it was as if Moriarty's men had cleared up after themselves when they had left.

No wonder John's soldier's instinct had told him to stop.

Sherlock bent over so that he could whisper in John's ear. The man shifted his head away a fraction, but didn't flinch.

"I think it's fine, we need to get back to the jet." He breathed, and John, trusting as ever, nodded resolutely.

"It's fine, let's get back to the jet." John said aloud, stepping forwards. Sherlock followed just a step behind him, and turned on his heel as he did to see the Doctor hefting Bruce along beside him. Since he had discovered the Master's death, he had been treating them to a stony silence.

The gravelly soil crunched underfoot, and the wind was whistling slightly as they edged along the riverside. It wasn't enough to mask the sudden roars that tore through the air. Bruce gasped, and stumbled, but the Doctor didn't let him fall, coming to a halt and turning in the direction of the denser city.

Sherlock was brought to a stop as he walked into the back of John, who had turned towards the source of the noise, his mouth open wide.

"We need to go," Sherlock said sharply, taking John's hand to drag him along, "_Now!"_

The Doctor agreed vehemently, hoisting Bruce back onto his feet, and the four of them hurried towards where they knew the jet would be waiting. It wasn't far.

When they reached about twenty yards from the building complex, there was an almighty bang, the sound and force of it shoving Sherlock to the ground, John atop him as his ears popped and rang, and he instinctively squeezed his eyes shut.

The explosion was brief, and Sherlock managed to raise his head enough to see the line that had been carved into the ground behind them, between the riverbank and the building complex.

Of course, Moriarty had left a trap. Too clean? No…he couldn't have anything disturbing the sensors.

A growl of pain, hissing, screaming almost sounded from feet away. It was as if a bucket of ice water had been poured over him. Sherlock's eyes fell on the Doctor, who was backing away, hands extended, leaking a litany of comforting words…and Bruce, who was hunched over, every muscle clenched…his skin tinting, and his clothes growing tighter.

* * *

**I've finally updated. I'm sorry it's been a while, but I've just today finished all my mock exams! **

**As always, I hope everyone's enjoying the story, which should be winding to a close soon**


	28. A Tense Interlude

Bruce continued to grow, to expand, the pale pigmentation of his flesh broiling and darkening into a harsh and enveloping shade of green. The grunts of pain stretched into agonised growls, climaxing as ragged screams that echoed with a low and roaring accompaniment that by the second took control. The scientist's eyes were squeezed shut, but the contortion of his features shifted from terror to rage in flickering, erratic moments.

The Doctor ceased backing away, stumbling slightly on a charred and smoking fragment of the ground, the burning residue of the explosion that had only seconds before taken place. The building complex was stained black with smoke, and chipped by shrapnel, but it appeared untouched; Moriarty couldn't have risked his machine it seemed.

Sherlock could only watch as the Doctor spoke, his hands outstretched towards Bruce's still writhing form. It was as if Bruce were trying to fight the transformation, trying to bite it down. Sherlock knew with a drowning feeling of dread that it wasn't going to change the inevitable, any more than the Doctor's tense but encouraging litany would sway the raw strength and anger that would be unleashed.

He had seen the videos, opened them surreptitiously while working, and the solid weight of his flatmate, still covering him, his chest heaving while also frozen by the sight of Bruce's agony, made the morbid curiosity vaporise in the wake of inescapable fear.

In the end, it was the release of pressure, the feeling of John hoisting himself sideways with a grunt, his hands clasping at his gun as he landed on his stomach in the dust and dirt beside the detective, and that made Sherlock inhale hastily. His mind was churning too slowly.

Sherlock forced himself up onto his elbows, and his hand darted out to grasp John's wrist, halting the upward motion that the barrel of the gun was making. John glared, his forehead creasing and his mouth opening and closing, but Sherlock just glared back. Now was not the time for rash action. As he wanted to reply, to tell John what to do, it was as if a predatory calm had fallen over the river's edge.

The air was still clogged with smoke, and his ears still rang, but Sherlock could no longer hear the choking guttural noises that had been emanating from the mutating scientist. Even the Doctor's incessant pleas of comfort had ceased. He turned his head, inches above the dirt, mirroring John's stiff tilt; what his eyes fell upon might well have made his heart stop, just for a fraction of a second.

Looming, practically shivering with pent up rage and frustration, metres above any stance that Sherlock could attempt, stood an enhanced, bulbous and primed creature that looked more a man than a monster save for the toxic green that invaded its every pore.

Feet away, the Doctor was standing frozen, and Sherlock was relieved to know that John was emulating him, as unsteady as his breathing may have been against the ground that he lay upon.

The creature – the 'Hulk', was clenching his fists, snarling soundlessly around as if finding his bearings. Sherlock closed his hand even tighter around John's wrist, and prayed inwardly that the Hulk would retain even a hazy memory of Bruce's apparent affection for his recently acquired allies.

_"Sherlock…" _ John breathed, barely louder than a whisper of air through the trees, "_Sherlock what do we do?"_

It was difficult to tear his eyes from the Hulk, who looked ready to pounce, as if he were observing his surroundings, but Sherlock managed it. The rush of something, like the promise of safety mixed with an irrational panic filled his chest as he ran his gaze over John's strained face.

"_Stay very, _very_, still."_ Sherlock muttered lightly; he chanced a glance at the Doctor, who met his eyes and nodded, his jaw set, and given the man's intuition, Sherlock assumed that he knew what the detective had decreed, "_He might leave us be, he's supposed to be on our side."_

_"Are you sure?" _John retorted sharply, nodding imperceptibly in the Hulk's direction, "_Because he looks like he could smash us regardless."_

_"Of course I'm not-"_ Sherlock's voice locked in his throat at the sound of a violent exhale. His head snapped around moments after John's and he was greeted by the sight of the bulking figure blocking out the harsher rays of the sun as he stared furiously down at them, his teeth showing under his quivering lips.

There was something calculating in his eyes, drifting beneath the veneer of hostility, but Sherlock could barely focus on that when met with the crippling refusal of his limbs to draw him to his feet. If only John would rise he might have been less immobile, but they both remained struck dumb on the ground.

"_Bruce_, leave them alone!" the Doctor's voice shattered the tension that had been building as the Hulk apparently decided whether they were worth his time, and the green giant bore down upon the Timelord, a unchecked hiss escaping his jaws.

Sherlock took the opportunity to pick himself up, dragging John with him. The Hulk changed his path once again, but merely growled threateningly at the detective. John raised his hands in surrender, as best he could while Sherlock maintained his tight grip. He couldn't think properly – everything was eclipsed by thoughts of John, thoughts of Bruce losing control inside this raging monster, who had turned back to the Doctor, snarling but not attacking just yet.

Not to mention the thoughts that he tried to push to the back of his mind telling him that because of him, a madman and a god were probably going to kill them all.

"Bruce, you need to stop and think, I _know_ that you're in there." The Doctor was saying confidently, but as Sherlock watched him twist and tweak his screwdriver, barely taking his eyes off of the Hulk as he edged backwards for every centimetre that the creature leaned, the detective couldn't help but see every crack in his façade.

The Hulk swung a clenched fist at the TImelord, narrowly missing him as the man leapt back, his nose wrinkling in disgruntlement. He didn't try again, but the Doctor remained on the tips of his toes in case he might have to move again.

John made as if to lurch forward, acting the hero, but Sherlock saw it coming and yanked him backwards. The detective placed his arm firmly in front of the doctor, holding him back. He knew that it would do no good should John make a valid effort, but for now it seemed to work.

Despite the desperate situation, as the Doctor tried once again to placate the Hulk, Sherlock gazed down at John with an unusually unguarded flush of tenderness. Also irritation, as the man was pouting, his own eyes burning his determination into the detective's with a stubbornness that Sherlock wished he could beat down for once. He couldn't allow him to die.

The sound of the ground cracking underfoot, and a sickening thud followed my an 'oomph' was the only warning that they received before the Doctor's crumpled form was thrown unceremoniously into Sherlock's side.

Once again, he found himself sprawled on the ground beside John and the irritably muttering Doctor, looking up through his own muted panic at the hulking green mass, which bared its teeth and growled.

"Bruce…" Sherlock tried, one last ditch attempt. He wasn't an idiot; he knew that given his own body weight and relative size it wouldn't take much more than a well aimed fist to cause irreparable damage to him or to John.

Any pity or calculation that might have lurked beneath the surface was lost, and the Hulk raised his fists to his chest, the muscles in his engrossed arms rippling and bulging horrifically, as his face contorted even further, and he let out an almighty roar. It was as if the atmosphere itself was shaken, and Sherlock couldn't have done more to shield John had he been in his feet and armed to the teeth. All that he could hope to achieve was to keep a tight hand clasped around John's while the Doctor muttered frantically to himself, still tinkering with the damned screwdriver even as the Hulk looked ready to tear him apart.

"Sherlock we need to run!" John snapped, pulling on the detective's hand and barely managing to make it to his feet with two other men sprawled beside him.

"Run _where_ John? We can't move that fast!" Sherlock replied sharply, but he allowed himself to be led clumsily from the ground even as the Hulk closed the space, coming close enough that one swing would leave them incapacitated.

Sherlock swallowed hard as the green mutation raised its fist, and the blood was pounding so hard in his ears, his hand was throbbing so hard with the pain of John's grip, and his eyes had closed automatically with the fear of death, that it was a moment before he realised that it hadn't come.

He heard John exhale loudly and swear under his breath. When he opened his eyes, knowing that the Hulk was still there, that no heavy steps had been taken, and yet no tell tale whoosh of air had been created, it was to see the fist suspended in the air, and the Hulk's honed and monstrous head turned towards the denser city.

And then he heard it. The roars from the other creatures, echoing, bellowing as if in response to the Hulk's own roar. Unlike the Hulk's, these were animalistic, unrestrained, raw and wild. They sounded like they were fighting, winning or not, Sherlock couldn't tell. He hoped that they weren't.

The Hulk let his hand drop, and Sherlock choked out a breath that he had until that moment been unaware he had been holding. The Doctor too had stopped muttering, and was rising slowly to his feet before the detective and is colleague; he was peering into the city scape with a cold, unreadable expression.

Before he could be stopped, not that they would have been able to Sherlock thought, the Hulk turned completely, showing his bare back as he stumbled, and then ran, his feet pounding the ground and shredding the dirt as he raced towards the sounds of one-sided battle.

If the glint in his eyes was real, then Sherlock thought that he could have worked out that his team was in need of him. It was more likely that he had heard the cries of his like and decided to join them.

Sherlock felt John's entire weight slump into his side, and the warmth was only just enough to provide the comfort required to not curl up and walk away.

"We should go after him." John was the first to speak, and though Sherlock wanted to scold him and tell him that they would be returning home immediately, he didn't. The Doctor span around on his heel, flashing them a debonair smile that Sherlock hated on sight.

"I agree, Dr Watson." He remarked, and with that, he turned once again, and began running down the dented pathway that the Hulk had created.

To Sherlock's dismay, John's presence at his side disappeared, and his flatmate was following the Doctor, his shoulders set like the soldier that he was. He paused momentarily and looked back to the detective, extending his hand in a gesture that screamed far more things than Sherlock cared to try and decipher.

With a sigh, and the stifling of his own inner voice telling him to turn around, Sherlock dug his hands into the pockets of his coat and jogged to John's side.

One thought that kept spinning around his mind as they approached the denser part of the city, was that the Avengers had better have been keeping the creatures contained. He hadn't yet decided how he might deal with one should they meet head on.

* * *

**Firstly, I'd like to apologise for the long wait for this pitifully short chapter. I've only just finished a ton of school work, and I'm not entirely happy with the writing of this, although I've got the story worked out now.**

**Apart from that, if you're still reading, I hope you enjoy**


	29. In the Midst of Battle

**Disclaimer: I don't own MCU, BBC, or anything remotely successful**

* * *

Around him, all Steve could make out was the potential for carnage. The homeless people had transformed, their flesh tearing as they grew and bulged, hurling noises of pained anguish aloofly into the air…but then silence had fallen.

Steve had watched the three that he could see with caution, unwilling to engage with them before it was necessary. Over the radio, a few breathed expletives had rattled down the line, from Tony, Clint, even Natasha had muttered something incomprehensible, but nobody, it seemed, was willing to give away their positions. The bulbous heads hung low, their chests heaving with spent energy. None of them moved, as if they were thinking hard, becoming accustomed to their new forms, hulking, stronger, more formidable.

So far as he could tell with the alleyways throwing shadows over the creatures, they ranged from a deep purple to a bronze blue, the colours of bruises just as they swelled to completion. Rather than the roughly man-like form that Bruce adopted, with his radioactive shade of green, these looked like twisted caricatures, squeezed and pressed into misshapen imitations of the Hulk.

"Alright team, just like we discussed," Steve muttered into his radio, lowering his voice when the head of one of the creatures twitched imperceptibly in his direction, "We need to push them towards that open square – we don't know what might hurt them, so just try anything that you can."

"_What if they run _towards _us? Bruce did exactly that last time we tussled." _Natasha's tempered tone was the only verbal response that Steve received; it was only the time that they had spent together over the past year that allowed him to hear the strained resonance in her voice.

He edged nearer to the creatures, pressing his back against the chilled concrete of the grand building that he had been using for shelter, so that he would appear less of a threat should one of them start paying attention.

"Then _you_ get to the square and lure them in." Steve replied after a moment's thought.

There was no response, not even from Tony, who Steve would have expected to let loose a snarky comment or a wavering attempt at humour, at the very least.

Steve allowed himself a second to close his eyes, to take a deep breath before stepping forward and triggering the frantic movements of the otherwise contained creatures scattered about London. But before he could ready himself, before he could try to take control of the situation, from across the city echoed an ear-splitting roar.

He couldn't be sure, but Steve was certain that the cry, more of anger than of pain, had emanated from the riverside, which meant…Bruce had turned, and they had one more thing to worry about.

"_Shit – did you hear that?" _Tony hissed down the line.

"_It's getting them riled up." _Clint added helpfully, cursing under his breath.

True to Clint's word, Steve forced himself to swallow back the rising trepidation that emerged as the three creatures that he could see began inhaling with a newfound ferocity, and reared back their heads to let out cries of their own.

He knew that he couldn't fight even one of them, but he could at least push them towards the square.

Steve lost track of time, the moments punctuated only by the shouts and curses of his team-mates as the creatures surged into action, whirling and writhing, throwing their limbs violently about them, screaming in frustration and rage.

Within the cramped alleys and closely packed brick walls, the creatures' fists crashed and tore through the infrastructure, filling the air with the sound of shattering stone as their feet bare feet pounded on the ground, making it vibrate and jump beneath them.

Their anger escalated, they barrelled into every empty space that they could, continuing in the direction they were pointed, turning at every extraneous noise, taking their fury out on walls, stray vehicles, _each other._

Gasping for breath and sweating under his suit, Steve sprinted between them, pushing them back with his shield, tumbling to his knees when a swing met its mark. More time passed, and he discovered by chance that if he flung his shield between two walls, made it whizz back to him as if marking an invisible wall, the creatures would fall back, charge in the opposite direction, as if bitten by the fast moving steel.

So he kept up his efforts, pushing them slowly but surely towards the square, and hoped that they others were having as much success.

* * *

From feet above the lowest building, Tony could just about see the rest of the team, struggling to force the creatures towards the open space that they had chosen earlier.

"JARVIS, make sure to keep the locations of the others up on the display." Tony gritted out, sending out another blast of heat across a narrow alley way.

The deformed, twisted puce creature that had been trying to smash its way into the space flinched back, stumbling in the opposite direction before turning on another, smaller of its kind.

It was only after a near miss, and a crumpled metal heel, that it had occurred to Tony that he needed to hover above the action, pushing the creatures from afar. He had managed to round up about six of them, which on second thought was probably not the best idea he had had all day. They were literally attempting to tear chunks out of each other, and if that failed, which it did, the surrounding architecture.

He himself was getting more frustrated the longer he was at it. It would be so much easier to just blast them into place, or to put them down…but after spending time with Bruce, Tony was reluctant to even graze them with the heavy grade weaponry. True, the rockets and lasers would have barely scratched the creatures, but Tony still couldn't make himself risk the chance that they might wake up as scarred and burnt humans.

Not that it was a huge issue, Tony thought as he propelled himself into the path of another stray creature, lighting up a wall of flames to force it back to the group, so far it appeared that the new life-forms were wary of anything too hot, like the rippling, pulsating walls of heat that he had lit up across the entrances to the adjoining alleyways.

Ha soared along behind his creatures as they charged into a wide street, littered with abandoned cars and empty market stalls.

"How're the rest of you getting on?" Tony called out, hoping that someone would be able to answer their radio.

"_My arrows aren't doing much, but they run away from them as they pass."_ Clint replied; Tony checked his display and saw that Clint was indeed managing to herd two creatures towards their mutual destination, "_I guess they don't like the fast movement."_

"I'm not surprised," Tony muttered, "They're practically babies."

"_Well they _love _gunshots." _Natasha added as Tony extended his arm and set another alleyway alight, eliciting a hateful screech from the nearest creature, which swiped up at him, following its comrades down the intended path after nearly tripping in the attempt, "_I'm leading mine to the centre – one of you needs to cover my perimeter."_

Taking advantage of the spare moment as the creatures raged on under their own steam, tony pulled up the holographic display that showed him the positions of his teammates.

"Thor buddy, you're closest; could you be a dear and cover Natasha's line for us?" he inquired sweetly; doubtless the god was probably enjoying the fight more than he should have been. And hell, why not, Tony thought – the guy's brother had abandoned them _again_, and his home planet was going to be opened up to attack at any moment – he _deserved_ a good punch-up to get the blood pumping.

"_I shall not disappoint!"_ Thor's confident cadence rang down the radio, almost joyful in its boastfulness.

Tony didn't bite back a chuckle as he soared around a taller building, having to dart upwards as one of the creatures took a swipe at him, catching his ankle with the tips of its fingers; at least someone was having fun.

* * *

Loki rested lightly on the steel bar of the balcony, choosing to look out over the city, listen to the roars and crashes, watch the vile creatures tear their way through the stone architecture of the city as the heroes battled futilely to herd them towards a mutual point.

He had no particular desire to observe the destruction, took no real joy in the shredding of the city which was far less imposing than the one in which he had staged his own invasion. It did however provide a reason not to lay his eyes on the short psychopath, who was chuckling under his breath, his dead expression trailing manically over the events unravelling beneath them.

The human would have been unremarkable save for the raw insanity that Loki could practically _feel_, rippling under the erratic but otherwise blank façade. It was disgusting that someone such as himself should stoop to work alongside such a pitiful example of humanity…but in terms of power and destructive force, Moriarty had promise.

The balcony that they were standing on proved as much – it hadn't been taken by force or manipulation. No, the rooms to which it was attached were at the top of a curved, glass building that scraped the skyline; not the tallest location, but the grandest, and most practical for surveying the madness. Moriarty had merely spoken in an undertone and dropped a card, and the two of them were allowed complete access.

Loki may have looked on him with disdain, but the mortal had power.

"Do you like what you see?"

Loki tilted his head, so that from the corner of his eye he could see Moriarty leaning back from the barrier, his own eyes trained on the god, a sadistic smile twisting his lips.

"It lacks the certain finesse with which I tend to execute my own schemes." Loki drawled, making it very clear that he disapproved of the man's joy at the mindlessness below.

The smile vanished from Moriarty's face, and his expression shifted to one of boredom.

"True…it _does_ get boring after a while –all the smashing, and growling – and _look_, that one just sent the Captain flying!" he drew out the syllables, rolling them on his tongue, "But just wait a while…once this gets _really _dull, I'll open the portals – then we can get going properly, send some of them to the rest of the planet, and the rest to Asgard."

"How deliciously barbaric of you." Was all that Loki could say, hoping that the bitterness wasn't too apparent; it wouldn't do to upset his _ally_ when so much was being offered.

Ignoring whatever sardonic reply that the mortal provided, Loki turned his attention back to the city. It was monotonous, and lacked any kind of intellectual stimulus…but…if he wasn't mistaken, then edging onto the scene was a break from the endless herding.

This should be funny, if nothing else.

* * *

Another hefty swing of Mjolnir, letting it soar in an arc, knocking the creatures back on course, and Thor was able to regain his footing. Any other day, and he might have been growling with anticipation at the fight; true, he couldn't help the familiar thrill as he capably pushed the eight or nine creatures that he was tackling in the right direction, but it was marred slightly by the myriad of other worries that were filling his mind and distracting him from his task.

First and foremost, the fact that despite all his instructions, and later orders, Donna Noble was stubbornly following at a distance. Each time the god would cover ground, moving further and further into the city, herding the horrific creatures and their bellowing cries to the location that Rogers had allocated, the red haired woman would sprint along in his wake, dodging behind upturned cars and toppled piles of stonework.

Not moments ago Thor had been forced to hurl his hammer at the group of furiously nearing creatures and perform a precarious almost twirl on the tips of his toes on order to shove Donna out of the path of a motorised bike that had been thrown, and into the relative shelter of a shop front.

"I told you to remain behind!" Thor yelled, as Mjolnir thudded back into his grasp; the creatures were roaring, screeching on all sides, clawing at him and the surrounding shop fronts, like the destructive force of a tsunami forcing its way through the city's walls, making it difficult to stay still for more than a few seconds, and even harder to keep Donna in his sights, "You are of no use to me in the midst of battle! Retreat _now!"_

"I don't think so!" Donna shouted, managing to make herself heard over the sound of the glass front of the nearest café shattering under the fists of a particularly frantic creature; Thor kicked him after the others, and turned to glance fleetingly at the woman, who had ventured out of her shelter, now wielding one of the shop's parasols like a sword, "I've got your back, I can lure them in!"

It took all of Thor's residual energy to refrain from snapping at the woman, and instead he edged further down the street, letting his frustrations free in an echoing cry and another throw of Mjolnir. The creatures, perhaps startled by the force of the hammer hurtling past them, perhaps choosing to finally huddle for security, all turned and crashed into the wider main road, heading thankfully towards their intended destination.

The god took advantage of the moment that this distraction allowed, and rotated to address Donna, who was following studiously behind, as if oblivious to the dangers all around her. He opened his mouth, but before he could call forth words to scold her, the ground began to thud out of time with the creatures' footfalls, making Donna stumble, and a booming, more refined scream of rage filled the air, emanating from _behind_ the line that he had already cleared.

Thor ground to a halt, hand still extended as Mjolnir flew into his grasp; Donna too froze, turning away from him to stare into the distance.

Trepidation began to emerge like a mole into the light, as in the distance, growing larger by the second, sprinting through the slim streets between the red brick buildings, was a toxic green mass, far too familiar for Thor to feel anything other than resignation.

"_Bruce!"_ Donna screamed, and the parasol slipped through her fingers and clattered to the ground. To Thor's dismay, it _was_ the Hulk, thundering towards them, with no apparent intent to stop. He leapt into action, moments before Donna could be ploughed over, grabbing her by the waist and lifting her haphazardly from his path as the Hulk stormed past, seemingly heading after the other creatures.

Even as Donna was pushing him away roughly, Thor's chest was heaving with the failure of their so carefully crafted plan; no actions could be taken against the creatures while Banner was there…he just had to comfort himself with the fact that the portals had yet to make an appearance.

"Get off! Get off me!" Donna was repeating waspishly, yanking her arms from Thor's grasp, "Bruce! Bruce, come back!" she was trying to race after him, but Thor took a-hold of her arm again, tightening his grip to an unbreakable hold.

"Donna you cannot follow him, you will be torn apart in the midst of battle." He insisted, even as she continued to fight him.

"Then what is the _point_ of me being here at all?" she demanded, her eyes burning with a mixture of fury and misery.

Thor wished that he could answer her adequately, but he never got the chance, as in the Hulk's wake came the pattering of lighter footsteps.

He looked away from the woman's anguished expression, and was simultaneously pleased and shocked to see the tweed clad, gangly limbed Timelord scrambling over the stony wreckage, screwdriver held aloft as he called out to anyone that would listen.

"Hold on, _hold on! _Everyone clear the way – I've got complete control of this situation!"

Thor began speaking, asking the Doctor what was going on, but the Timelord just ran straight past them, barely even acknowledging the two of them.

"Where the Hell's he think he's going?" Donna snapped, watching the Doctor's form disappear around a corner.

This was enough to remind Thor that he actually had a job to be doing, though the Hulk seemed to have prevented the creatures from making a retreat. Whether they were nearing the intended location was another matter entirely.

Before he could make a move however, Sherlock and John appeared, panting and gasping for breath as they chased after the Doctor. Thor was ready to catch one of them by the scruff if they ignored him, desperate as he was to know how things had gone so awry, but to his relief, Sherlock, dark coat flapping around his legs, staggered to a halt beside Donna.

As John slowed down by his side, the detective doubled over, leaning his hands on his knees and ducking his head to catch his breath.

"Donna," John acknowledged, nodding respectfully; Donna didn't reply, but made an expectant gesture with her hand, "I take it things aren't going quite to plan?"

"_No_, they're not!" Donna retorted, regaining some of her fiery posture, "What d'you two think you're doing?"

"We…ah…"

"Why is it that Banner turned?" Thor inquired urgently, "I thought you were supposed to be guiding him to a safe location."

"Moriarty…" Sherlock gasped, straightening out, still inhaling deeply in an attempt to steady his breathing, "Moriarty set a trap to set him off."

"I need to get after him." Donna muttered, stumbling away from the group and down the street after the Hulk, until Thor caught the collar of her coat, yanking her back and eliciting a disgruntled huff.

"Not on you own, I can't allow-" Thor was cut off by a sharp buzzing in his ear, as his radio tuned itself in response to the message being sent.

"_Thor buddy, your herd seems to be straying." _Tony's voice filtered through, and Thor cursed inwardly, turning his ears towards the sound of stone walls being crushed beneath hefty fists.

"I must return to the fray." He informed John and Sherlock, who rolled his eyes almost disdainfully as he too glanced towards the noise.

"We can keep an eye on Donna." John offered, rolling his shoulders back and straightening into a stance that Thor recognised as a universal sign of a soldier preparing for battle, "How can we help?"

"The creatures are drawn by gunshots – you could lure them into the square that we have chosen." Thor explained, pointing his hammer towards the area where even from his location within the city, he could see his teammates on the rooftops closing in, the dust kicked up by the creatures moving inwards, "take the side roads so as not to be trampled…and guide Donna to Banner's side, we need him to be gone or our antidote will kill him."

"_Oh god, _do we _have_ to?" Sherlock drawled desperately, narrowing is eyes at John.

"Yes, yes we do." John said firmly, glaring up at his friend in a way that allowed no argument, "Come on, you don't have to fight these beasts, but you can stand on a street corner and fire your gun a bit." He instructed, earning a snide but defeated pinching of Sherlock's features, before he looked up at Thor, "You go deal with them, we're fine."

"Thank you." Thor responded solemnly; he wasn't pleased about allowing three weak and barely armed mortals travel to the middle of the battle, but he could appreciate the show of bravery.

John merely nodded, and pushing a hand at the base of Sherlock's back, which was petulantly shrugged away, and using the other arm to hurry Donna along, the soldier led the two of them away into the dusty, sheltered side-street at the end of the road.

Inhaling deeply, Thor tensed and stretched his muscles; after a moment's hesitation, he charged down the cobbled London street, in the path created by the pounding feet of the creatures and the Hulk, Mjolnir swinging in preparation.

* * *

**I apologise greatly for the wait between chapters, I'm havign real issues finding the energy to write (I'd much rather be reading my story than writing it)**

**As you can see, action is not something that I'm very good at writing, but I tried, and the next chapter should be full of surprises**


	30. Chaos Reigns

Tony circled the rough perimeter that he and the others had created. It wasn't look bad, even if he did say so himself. All of the larger heat signatures were within 400 yards of the square that they had cleared, and according to JARVIS, the team were doing a good job of keeping the creatures back, with few lasting injuries to their own persons.

It was with a surge of half-worry, half-appreciation that Tony saw Sherlock and his doctor friend charge clumsily into the square itself, guns raised above their heads, their fire drawing in the few straggling creatures.

The one big problem, Tony thought as he soared past where Clint was capably boxing in two bulbous creatures from above, was the almost phosphorescent green Hulk that had joined in the battle, followed by a seemingly unarmed Timelord, and Donna Noble.

Regardless of what Fury had muttered in Tony's ear as he had jetted off, _he_ was the only one that could release the access codes to the anti-Hulk formula; he wasn't even going to risk it while Bruce was on the ground.

"Hey, Sherlock-" Tony called into his radio, "Holmes! You there?"

"_Yes- yes, what do you want?" _ the detective all but panted in reply. From a distance, Tony could see him turning his head sharply, his arms sagging despite his efforts, exhausted by the fight as he tried to urge his friend to remain near the edge of the nearest building rather than in the middle of the fray.

"What's the story with Bruce? You getting him out or what?" Tony asked irritably, eyeing the small gathering. One creature had followed the growls that the Hulk was emitting, and was now edging around the square as the Hulk tore into a grand stone structure.

Natasha appeared like a dart whipping through the air, driving the creature into a corner with the small explosives that she kept on her at all times, and her pistols.

"_Donna's trying to lure him away, but she's doing a terrible job at getting noticed –she's too small." _Sherlock responded after a few tense moments where Tony watched him dodge a large chunk of architecture that the Hulk hurled in his direction.

John must have heard Sherlock's comment, as he immediately abandoned the relative shelter of the building alongside which Sherlock had been keeping them, and sprinted towards Donna, firing shots into the air to draw the Hulk's attention to him.

Tony had to admire the man's guts, and the sound of the detective swearing loudly in his ear, before following him, was all the reassurance he was going to get concerning Bruce's safety.

"Well, good luck with that – you need to get him away soon unless you want your city completely refurbished." He stated drolly, but there was no answer other than a harsh, bitten out expletive.

Tony let out a laugh, the first one in hours, but even that moment of brief frivolity was cut short, as a noise like the thrumming of twenty bells, and the running of a thousand nails down chalkboards filled the air. The roars halted immediately, and the Hulk froze just as Donna, Sherlock, and John reached its heel, and in tandem, every mutated creature turned its head from side to side, trying to find the source of the wretched sound.

"_Do you guys see that?" _Steve demanded, his voice laced with what Tony knew was panicked bewilderment.

"_Yeah…that's not good at all." _Clint added, only serving to confuse Tony more. Tony turned his sights upwards, searching the skies for the anomaly that should have appeared if Moriarty had gone ahead with his plan.

But he only became more confused as Natasha and Thor both chipped in to state their anxieties, as no matter how hard he strained the Iron Man sensors, Tony couldn't see any sign of the portals opening.

That was until JARVIS opened various alarms before his eyes, telling him that there were strange singularities at _ground level_ that he should inspect.

Tony drifted higher into the air, so that his scanners could overlook a large area, but he needn't have bothered. He could see with his eyes, and a wave of dread, what the others were bickering about on the ground. Dotted about, in the wider streets and open areas, even in their chosen square, contained pieces of the air seemed to be rippling, bubbling, as if heated to extraordinary temperatures; it was as if the air were becoming a volatile mass.

"Oh, crap." Tony muttered, and for an irrational second it felt as if he had been betrayed, but by who he wasn't sure – honestly, was it too much to ask that the portals were where he expected them to be?

Without further ado, the rippling, churning portions of air expanded into spherical arches of about ten feet each way, darkening and solidifying until the readings on Tony's suit told him that the temperature around them had dropped, and that the gravitational analyses showed that there was something within them.

The portals had been opened.

Like a boulder being hurled into a lake, dread overtook Tony's ability to speak, just for a second, as he watched two, then another creature break the perimeter and charge through the portals nearest them. Tony just hoped that Asgard was as guarded as Thor said it was.

As another, feet below him made to move away from the group, Tony fired a line a fast acting rockets into its path, forcing it in the other direction. That was enough to bring back the surge of action that usually carried him along, and as he monitored the others, doing a decent job of keeping the creatures away from the portals while the perimeter expanded bit by bit, Tony saw from the corner of his vision how the greenest, most human, of the creatures was standing stock still.

* * *

Sherlock reeled back as the portal in the centre of the square ripped open the very fabric of his already precarious reality. He knew by the scraping sounds from all around that more were being forced open across the city.

The Doctor was being no help whatsoever; the Timelord was darting in and out of the sheltered crags of the square, between the legs of the creatures, around and around the Hulk, doing nothing more than wave his metal screwdriver in the air, muttering to himself as nothing happened.

Sherlock watched the ridiculous man with an irrational, rising hatred as he narrated his failures, calling out apologetically that there was something interfering with his attempts to put the creatures to sleep, and that he couldn't do that to Bruce.

But he couldn't think about that. Right then, his entire focus was upon John, who had jogged to stop beside Donna, as she yelled at the formidable and looming form of the Hulk.

"Bruce, please, listen to me when I'm talking!" Donna cried, wavering between emotionally pained and furious at being ignored; her red hair was being pulled from her face by the high winds soaring from the open portal.

As Sherlock came to his side, wrapping one hand around the other man's upper arm, John kept his gun raised in the air, and glanced around them, on guard for external attack. He was no longer firing, as the Hulk was standing, chest heaving mere feet before them, but Sherlock knew that he wouldn't hold back if he needed to, as although Natasha and Tony were doing a fine job of containing the other creatures, the risk remained.

"John, this isn't safe, come away." Sherlock beseeched him, muttering in his ear even as Donna continued to implore the Hulk, whose head was turned in the direction of the portal, his eyes narrowed with a peculiar cunning.

"Sherlock, _shh!"_ John hissed, but he didn't shake off the hand, allowing them to remain close to each other. Sherlock battled down the rising panic in his chest, telling himself over and over that they were quick, and that so long as he had a hold on John, they would be fine.

Suddenly, the Hulk's head snapped around, and his viridian eyes focused solely on Donna, hardening dangerously before softening, and his hand twitched imperceptibly towards her.

Donna's expression morphed into one of relief, and she stretched her arms out to him, under the disbelieving gazes of the detective and his doctor, almost meeting his hand, touching his enhanced fingertips.

"Come on Bruce, we need to leave now." She instructed, firmly, her forehead pinching with contained grief and relief as she stepped backwards. Sherlock followed John as he too began to tread backwards, checking behind him, clearing the way for Donna and the Hulk.

The Hulk took one step forward, and the detective was momentarily stunned by their success; the scientific possibilities if he could study the Hulk, while he were functioning with the mind of Bruce Banner, were phenomenal.

Sherlock felt a pang of guilt when he realised what John would think of his musings, but this too was cut short as one of the creatures broke from its trappings in a side-street, slamming past Natasha and charging into the square towards the portal like a thing possessed.

The Hulk's temporary calm evaporated in a second, and the next he had turned from Donna and was tackling the creature with a hateful growl, pushing it away from the portal and kicking it across the concrete of the square.

Donna screamed after him, rushing forward, making it less than a metre before John caught her by the wrist and held her back, struggling against her fists as he tried to tell her not to get herself killed.

Sherlock whirled about until he caught sight of the Doctor, still tinkering, in his own world as he dodged the occasional flying rubble.

"Doctor!" he yelled viciously, a stab of victory lightening is mood as the Timelord looked up as if in shock, and met his stare with curiosity, "You're supposed to have all the answers, _do something useful!"_

"I don't have-" The Doctor started defensively, striding towards Sherlock as if they weren't in the middle of a warzone, or John and Donna weren't struggling mere feet away from a parallel duel between monstrous beasts; his eyes lit up though, and he came to an abrupt stop only inches from the detective's nose, "Oh…but I do have-"

At this the Doctor's face stretched into a wide grin, flushed with joy, and he turned with a flourish on his heels, racing toward an empty side-street.

"I'll be back in a mo'!" he shouted over his shoulder, his voice echoing off of the bricks.

Sherlock stood, shoulders drooping and breath quick, watching in defeat as the Timelord disappeared. He had no idea what to do. So he threw caution to the wind and twirled around, taking Donna's other arm and helping John drag her to safety, his iron grip on his gun never fading.

* * *

Loki eyed Moriarty detachedly as the mortal's expression twisted into a deformed caricature of joy, sadistic and entranced as the man overlooked the destruction below. He recalled moments when he had felt the same rush of vile pleasure as he rose above his enemies, but this man presented new levels of calculated insanity.

Minutes ago, Loki had watched as Moriarty had extracted a slim, metallic device from the inside pocket of his fine suit, explaining that '_this, this here is the key to our success'_. There were buttons and slides adorning the device that Loki couldn't put a name to, but he had observed with only a curt nod as the mortal had traced his fingers along a rotating gear, and made the fabric of the world rip open, allowing the creatures access to Asgard.

On the ground, Loki observed with a small amount of interest as the Avengers and their tag-alongs successfully managed to keep the creatures within one area of the city – true, Banner was there as well, indicating that they had failed at some point, but the show of strength was admittedly impressive.

Loki couldn't help but roll his eyes as he saw Thor twirling and pirouetting like a stunted song bird, hurling Mjolnir to and fro, causing as much damage to the city as the beasts that he was fighting. The blue spangled Captain was swift, but his defence seemed to be tiring him; Stark's iron suit caught the light as he circled the perimeter, but he was little more than a shepherd, and the agents in black were like mice beside the monsters. He wasn't sure _what_ was happening in the centre, where the Hulk had gathered with the charming detective and his friend, but from such a distance it looked nothing more than a redundant farce.

As Moriarty chuckled darkly under his breath, Loki turned to face him, peering down his nose at the man without a word, waiting for him to respond as he should. Moriarty glanced upwards, acknowledging the god with a cocked smirk.

"You weren't lying when you said that you held the power over today's events in your hand." Loki drawled, basking in the proud grin that stretched across the mortal's lips in reaction to his words.

"I've told you nothing but the truth; there's no point lying to you – you're giving me what I want." Moriarty retorted, rolling the syllables over and around his tongue, letting them churn as his eyes shone with cold enjoyment, "All that power out there, all those super-humans, and magicians, and gods…and it's the man with science in his hands that wins. I win."

Analysing the expectant glimmer in the mortal's expression, Loki allowed a slight inclination of his head, to show that he understood the gravity of Moriarty's position. He peered once more at the device in the man's hand, opaquely this time, catching his attention.

"I am not familiar with Midgardian technology." Loki stated plainly, continuing to inspect the metal device with interest as Moriarty opened his palm a fraction to allow a better view, "This allows you to activate the interstellar device by the river…how?"

Moriarty's grin grew wider, and though he raised an eyebrow with a tilt that Loki thought was mocking at worst, he extended the device fully, so that Loki could inspect it without it ever leaving his hands.

"It's remote control; infrared and microwave signals connect this to the device, and let me activate it from here." He explained, in a superior tone that Loki cared little for, but he had a tight enough hold on his own superiority not to let it affect him farther than a caustic glare.

"And this functions only for you?" Loki inquired; he reached out his hand to trace his fingers over the device, but Moriarty dropped his arm with a tut, as if disciplining a young child.

"No, I just said that so that he wouldn't try to take it from me; it's far too much effort trying to fight them hands on, and I hate getting my hands dirty."

"I _see_." Loki replied, nodding wisely before turning his sights back to the crashing and flinging of stone wall below, "And I assume that should you please, the device can be terminated from here as well – for your own ease of course."

Loki watched from the corner of his eye, as Moriarty shrugged imperceptibly, straightening his suit as he slipped the remote device once more into his pocket.

"I have no desire to close the portals, but if I have to, I don't want anyone to be able to do it." Moriarty boasted, "_Sure_, the termination codes are in the remote, but I'd have to plug them into the machine itself – I'm nothing if not prepared."

"I applaud your forward thinking…and your tenacity." Loki drawled, and then he flexed the fingers of his right hand, cracking the knuckles as the light, chilled weight materialised between his digits.

Without another word, and before Moriarty could even react to his actions, Loki spun to face him, and thrust the deadly, sharpened sceptre, through the criminal's chest, hissing viciously at the ease with which it glided through the tissue, causing thick dark blood to pool in the expensive cotton shirt. Loki allowed his features to display the visceral hatred that he had been repressing since the moment he had laid eyes on the man.

Moriarty lurched forward, fighting against the force of the blow even as Loki forced him to his knees, looming over his rattling form as the mortal tripped backwards, grasping futilely at the railing before toppling downwards, the back of his skull hitting the floor with a sickening thud.

"Wh…what are you doing?" Moriarty choked out, a gurgling, cracking sound; the blade still embedded in his chest, Loki crouched over his body, able to hear the rattling of his chest, the screeching of air escaping his lungs, and the slow dripping of his blood crawling from his arteries.

Loki revelled in the victorious rush of adrenaline that coursed through his veins at the sight of the grand psychopath levelled to the ground, and his lips curled into a malicious smirk as he interrogated the man, ignoring his startled and pained pleas.

"Tell me, what was your plan again?"

Moriarty's eyes widened, but no understanding leached into them, only a bemused and horrified shock.

"I'm going to – gon-…I'm going to flatten the, the Earth…" the man was struggling for breath, wincing in pain, but Loki refused to show mercy by removing the blade, and allowing a swifter death, "and, and then…then Asgard…and, and more…" Moriarty laughed manically, hysterically, "but, but then…then you can _rule_…you can _rule_ the ones that betrayed you – you c-can, you can make them s…suffer…"

At this Loki laughed, a dark, hateful chuckle that rose up from the depths of his chest and met with the fury in his glare.

"You think that I would rule Asgard?" he asked, voice barely a whisper, but harsh as the wind, "You think that I wish to destroy my home, allow your monstrosities to desecrate _my_ realm?"

"I – I –I -" finally, a flicker of fear entered Moriarty's eyes as he realised what he had done, as if only then was he realising that his death was creeping up behind him, about to pounce, "But _they-"_

Loki's purr melted into a vicious hiss as he clasped the front of Moriarty's suit and pulled him upwards, worsening the path of the sceptre.

"_They_? _My_ people – you think yourself far greater than you are mortal, to think that you could wage war upon the _Aesir_!" Loki allowed all of the rage that he had previously been unable to vent pour forth, "You truly thought that I would allow you to bring death to _my_ people, to tarnish the palace where my _mother_ sleeps? You are too proud mortal!"

Loki threw Moriarty to the ground, relishing the pained scream that the man released as the blade was jostled, and more blood pooled around him, staining his treasured suit.

The god knelt beside him, one last time, to whisper in his ear, as the man choked, no longer strong enough to give voice to his words.

"The few of your beasts that have made it to Asgard will be dealt with by the guards." Loki informed the criminal; he slipped a hand into the front of the tarnished suit, and closed his fingers around the slim, metal device, retracting it and holding it aloft for Moriarty's eyes to trace, "and I shall close the doorway before more can make the leap. As you fade, consider where you went wrong."

With that, Loki rose to his full height, and peered disdainfully at the gagging body. He gripped his sceptre tightly, and wrenched it free from the man's thorax, ignoring the gasped groan, and disappeared into thin air.

* * *

**I don't know how many people saw that coming, or who can predict what's next, but I can assure you, things are drawing to a close very soon**


End file.
